


Season 5 AU The Die is Not Cast

by MonJoh



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur Finds Out, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Magic Revealed, No Slash, Season/Series 05, terminal illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-13 10:14:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 121,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4517994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonJoh/pseuds/MonJoh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started as a few tweaks and became a rewrite of Season 5 … what if the last season had been about fulfilling the show’s promises instead of about Mordred and Arthur’s doom?  What if Merlin used his great power and Arthur showed the sense one would expect of a leader and they built Albion together? Which may not be easy ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arthur's Bane alternate ending

King Arthur made his way alone through the torch-lit passages Morgana’s slaves had dug beneath Ismere. The snow-covered tower above insulated the underground tunnels and sweat trickled down his back, increasing the itch caused by the rough, unfamiliar fabric of his borrowed Saxon garments. Smoke collected in the motionless air. He blinked to clear his eyes. Passageways branched off in every direction and he wondered which way his idiot servant had gone in pursuit of Morgana’s dragon. The ground was too rocky to determine which tunnel the dragon and the fool chasing it had taken.

“Merlin!” Arthur hoped the Saxons who had cleared out before the dragon’s appearance were not within earshot. “Merlin?”

He paused in the centre of a large, well-lit area.

A voice from behind sent chills down his spine. “How good of you to save me the trouble of finding you.”

For an instant, Arthur froze at Morgana’s taunt. Then he half-spun and grabbed for his sword in a single movement hoping to swing at the black-haired, black-garbed sorceress before she blasted him. His heart plummeted when his hand closed on empty air. He had smuggled his sword to Percival so he and the other enslaved knights could stage an uprising against their Saxon captors.

“Oh dear, how remiss of you!” Morgana sneered. “Your bravery is matched only by your stupidity. What on earth did you think you would achieve by coming here?”

In the three years since her last defeat, Arthur had begun to hope Morgana was finally gone. Her powers had failed her at the moment she tried to kill him at their last meeting; no such fortunate event would be repeated now.

He slowly turned to face the derision which twisted her beautiful features. “I'm here to free my men,” he said.

Admiration passed over Mordred’s face. The curly-haired, blue-eyed boy who had been with the slave traders now stood at the sorceress’ right hand. It was not surprising he was on good terms with Morgana given she had saved his life as a boy, albeit with Arthur’s help. Apparently Mordred felt his debt to the king was settled by having ensured neither Arthur nor his servant were killed at the time of their capture and by treating them decently while they were captive.

“ _Fleoge_.” Morgana’s knife sprang through the air. “This time it seems there really is no way out.”

The blade followed Arthur when he tried to duck, then hovered a handspan from his throat. It danced slowly in the air before it struck with lightning speed to stab him in his left side and send him to his knees.

He stalled for time. “I'm sorry for what our father did to you.”

“Uther was never my father!”

“But we are brother and sister,” Arthur said, pleased to rile her. If she was angry enough her distraction might allow him to escape. He braced a hand against the rocky wall to climb back to his feet, grimacing as the movement aggravated his injury.

“Funny how you choose to remember that with my dagger at your back,” she sneered.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, he straightened and looked her in the eye. The blade hovered in front of him though he did not glance at it.

“What happened to you, Morgana? As a child you were so kind, so compassionate.” Only the barest trace of that girl remained. Her previously well-groomed black hair was a dirty tangle, her expensive gowns were replaced by a tattered black dress with torn lace and ripped hem. But her eyes had changed the most, a flash of what might have been remorse quickly replaced by a hateful glare.

“I grew up.”

The floating blade buried itself in his left leg and he crumpled, landing on his back against the rough-hewn rock wall.

“You are right to cower before my hand,” Morgana said. “I am more powerful than you can imagine."

“And yet with all that you choose to do nothing but hate.”

She merely laughed. “Uther taught me well.” The spite in her tone chilled his blood. “Goodbye, Arthur Pendragon.”

At that moment his idiot servant ran directly into danger with typical disregard for his own safety. “Arthur!”

Morgana sent a blast of magic at the dark-haired fool that slammed him against the stone wall. Arthur winced when Merlin’s head cracked against the hard rock. The young man fell to the ground, stunned.

The king glanced at Mordred, wondering if he might realize the depth of Morgana’s madness and help them again. The conflicted look on the boy’s face did not give Arthur much hope of rescue for either himself or his friend. Merlin was in danger, helpless, because he refused to leave Arthur’s side.

“No! Morgana... Please...”

The sorceress’ response to his entreaty was a flick of her hand. Her power rammed into him with the force of a mace. He lay dazed on the floor of the rocky chamber. Hopefully his death appeased her so she would allow Merlin to leave with his life.

“Don’t speak, dear brother. It’s too late.”

“ _Hine_ –”

The spell Arthur knew would result in his painful death was cut off mid-sentence.

Wincing through his pain, Arthur tried to focus on his sister. She had fallen to her knees, her face turned away from him, staring up at the dark-haired boy who stood on her right, a knife clasped in his fist.

“Mordred?” she gasped weakly. Her left hand clutched her right side.

Arthur wondered at the hurt which laced her voice, he had thought her beyond any ability to care for another person. Then she stood and her hand dropped from her wound. There was no bleeding from her injury, proof no mortal blade could strike her down.

He could not see her expression, but a look of horror come over Mordred’s face and he took several steps back from her. Morgana reached out to close her fist on empty air, clenching her fingers as though choking him. The boy paled and dropped his weapon to grasp uselessly at his throat.

Then Morgana was thrown backward through the air to smash against the rock wall of the cavern, as she had done to Merlin. She crumpled in a heap on the floor. Mordred must have strong magic to strike the High Priestess down, but he looked bewildered as he stood staring at Merlin.

Arthur’s servant lay where he had fallen. He must have reached out because Arthur saw his hand drop back to his side, his eyes unfocused, and his head lolled back in exhaustion.

The king struggled upright. Mordred knelt beside Arthur to support him and help him walk. They paused long enough for Merlin to drag himself to his feet, then the three of them escaped as quickly as possible.

They made slow progress despite their haste. Mordred coughed as he sucked in air that had been briefly denied him. Arthur was limping. He leaned heavily on Mordred, his left arm looped over the boy’s shoulders. Merlin staggered, one hand rubbing the back of his head. He lurched sideways once and put out a hand to keep from stumbling into the rough-hewn rock wall.

To Arthur’s great relief, they met up in the passageway with several of his knights, an injured but recovering Gwaine in tow. Percival regarded Mordred with suspicion as he took the injured king’s arm. Mordred stepped back warily.

“You saved my life,” Arthur said to Mordred. “Even if it was done with magic.” He saw the boy’s glance dart towards Merlin. “I don’t countenance sorcery, but nor do I enforce my father’s decrees with the same degree of intolerance he showed. I would gladly grant you safe passage to Camelot’s border or we can escort you to the Druids again if that’s your wish. I can assure you the Druids have lived in peace within this kingdom for over three years.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Mordred said. “But I’m not the one who saved your life; it was Emrys.”

Arthur saw Merlin give a violent start at that name. It seemed odd until the king remembered Morgana had also referred to such a person in the throne room when she had been defeated and driven from the kingdom the last time.

“Nevertheless I am grateful for your defense of me,” Arthur said. “Please believe that I’m not so vindictive that I would punish a person for using magic when it was done with the intention of protecting me.” Merlin looked unnaturally pale and the king worried his servant might pass out from the nasty blow his head had taken. “Mordred, we’ll ensure your safe passage from the kingdom, but we have to leave now while Morgana is unable to stop us.”

Mordred shook his head. “Thank you again, but I’m accustomed to making my own way.”

“So be it and I wish you well, then.” Arthur offered his hand and the boy grasped it in farewell. “Let’s go,” the king ordered his men.

Merlin field dressed the king’s wounds while Percival gathered together the three score knights who had been enslaved. King Arthur was relieved that the effects of Merlin’s head injury had lessened and none of his knights had any grave injuries. Gwaine was in the worst shape but even he had healed enough to fight. They found weapons and clothing suitable for the snow-covered plains around Ismere and Arthur organized the other slaves who chose to battle their way out alongside the Camelot knights.

Proud of his men for the ease with which they fought Morgana’s Saxon allies despite being bone-weary from weeks of enslavement, Arthur called a halt to their flight as soon as they were a reasonably safe distance from Ismere. He wanted to give his knights an opportunity for food and rest as well as give himself a chance to heal enough so he could wield his sword if necessary, though there was no indication Morgana had rallied her troops to follow them.

After Merlin treated the king’s wounds and tended to various injuries for both the knights and the other former slaves, he went to fetch food for Arthur. The king watched his men set up camp as best they could with equipment from Ismere’s stores. They worked awkwardly with the unfamiliar Saxon tools, casting disdainful glances at their borrowed garb. He was glad to have discarded his itchy Saxon disguise, relieved that his own clothes had remained hidden where he had stashed them when he and Merlin made their rescue attempt.

Percival had returned Arthur’s royal sword and it was back at his side. It really was an exceptionally well-made weapon. He had yet to figure out how Merlin had made the sword appear to be stuck fast in a chunk of solid rock to accompany his made-up rubbish about Arthur’s ancestor. Arthur had tugged on the hilt and it had definitely been fixed in the stone somehow, yet had come loose exactly when it was supposed to. It was probably the same kind of trickery Merlin used to pull off that juggling ploy.

At least the mystery of the dragon attack on Agravaine’s troop was explained; there was most definitely another living dragon. Although the reports of this new dragon’s size must have been exaggerated. The tales which had reached Arthur’s ears about the attack outside Ealdor claimed the creature to be at least as large as the Great Dragon Arthur had slain, but the white dragon in Ismere’s tunnels was small. Apparently the smaller dragon had not been under Morgana’s control when it attacked Agravaine’s soldiers, which was doubly lucky since Arthur was aware how close he and his own party had been to falling victim in that attack. They had barely outpaced Agravaine to enter the tunnels when the dragon swooped down on their pursuers, another example of the good fortune Arthur was blessed with.

Not for the first time he thought about Morgana’s words as he faced her in Camelot’s throne room, the new sword in his hand. He had tried to talk to his sister, tried to reach through her bitterness and hate, but she had been determined to strike him down and keep the crown. ‘Not even Emrys can save you now,’ she had said, yet when she tried to kill him she had been powerless. Guinevere told him Morgana had defeated her and was poised to kill her, sword at Guinevere’s throat, when some powerful unseen force threw Morgana backward in an explosion of debris. Merlin had joined Guinevere just then but neither of them could explain what had happened or where Morgana disappeared to. It sounded similar to the blow which had knocked Morgana unconscious so he, Mordred, and Merlin could escape her in Ismere.

Merlin returned with something he claimed was from the Saxon food stores but which Arthur was unable to identify by either sight or smell. Aware his servant had fed him questionable dishes in the past, the king waited until Merlin took a bite of the unknown substance before trying it himself. The taste was unusual but apparently it was safe for consumption and it would keep his strength up.

“You’ve heard of Emrys,” Arthur began, alarmed when Merlin choked on his food. Perhaps it was not safe to eat, after all.

“What? No I haven’t.” The blow to the head must pain his servant because he was ashen.

“You were beside me in the throne room when Morgana said something about Emrys,” Arthur reminded him.

Merlin’s colour began to come back and he swallowed the food lodged in his throat. “Oh, right.”

“Mordred said it was Emrys who saved me in Ismere, and we were able to defeat Morgana and Helios despite her claim which means Morgana was wrong – Emrys saved me both times.” It was apparent that magic had been involved on those occasions and he recalled Gaius’ words about the ‘rich variety of people’ – which clearly meant sorcerers – who were supportive of his reign. Certainly he had been fortunate on a number of occasions when magic was the most likely explanation for his good luck, although how Emrys accomplished it without detection Arthur had yet to discover. “It has to involve sorcery.” He glanced at his servant.

Merlin had stopped eating to stare.

“Don’t worry, I’m not about to overturn everything my father worked for during his reign. If someone is using magic for my benefit, I will deal with that charge with as much leniency as the laws allow. There is scope to banish a sorcerer instead of executing a person without so much as a trial, as I know my father was occasionally guilty of.”

Merlin’s face had a strangled expression and Arthur decided they should both get some rest. As long as he did not know the identity of this sorcerer he would not have to make any decisions about that person’s fate. Whoever or whatever Emrys was, it was better not to know.


	2. Death Song of Uther Pendragon alternate ending

Arthur wondered how it was possible for his idiot servant to have such an uncanny ability to frighten away every possible prey that had come near during an entire day of hunting. A sneeze came from said idiot as their mounts plodded sedately along the forest path in the waning sunlight.

“You’re still angry with me, aren’t you?” came Merlin’s voice from behind the king.

The man’s insight was astounding. “We spend the entire day hunting and catch nothing because every time we get anywhere near anything you sneeze and frighten it away.”

“Not the last time,” his servant said.

“No, that time you fell into a stream. No one can accuse you of being predictable, Merlin.”

“I think I’m getting a cold.”

“I certainly hope it’s a bad one.” That should forestall any further attempts at conversation.

A shriek reverberated through the trees.

The king’s head snapped around. “What was that?”

“I think it was a bird.”

Arthur paid no attention to his friend’s ridiculous assertion. His eyes scanned the woods surrounding them as he rode. A moment later another shriek echoed in the forest and Arthur had pinpointed the direction the chilling sound had come from.

“That? That was definitely a woman screaming,” his servant admitted as Arthur dismounted and grabbed his sword from his saddlebag to sprint in the direction of the cry.

Over a wooded hill, a small village was laid out below him. He crouched behind a tree to take stock of the situation. The leader of a procession of villagers carried a torch and behind him a bound figure was pushed along as they marched toward a pyre in the centre of the group of dwellings.

Abruptly Merlin, who had followed the king, rushed past him to get a closer view. Arthur was momentarily distracted by his servant’s sudden and intense interest in the proceedings below.

“What are you doing?” the king demanded.

“Well, I assume you want to risk our lives to see what’s going on.” Merlin did not take his eyes off the scene below.

As much as Arthur hated to admit to that succinct summation, Merlin was right. Standing, the king led the two of them straight into the village, sword in hand.

An elderly woman had been tied to the stake in the middle of the pile of dry brush. Wisps of grey hair hid her face, her head hung low. The village elder held his torch high in the air as if it was a judgement, playing to the crowd of villagers circled around him where he stood next to the pyre.

“Let the woman go,” Arthur commanded.

Several villagers turned but it was the white-haired elder who responded.

“This woman has been sentenced to death, it does not concern you.” He made to light the pyre when Arthur’s voice interrupted him again.

“I am Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, and your village is in my lands.”

That got the man’s attention, although apparently the white-haired man had no intention of allowing his show of authority to be usurped.

“Her sorcery has brought sickness and suffering to this village,” the old man pronounced, glancing around to ensure his audience appreciated his deep concern for them.

“Has she received a fair trial?” the king asked evenly.

The man’s eyes narrowed under his bushy white brows. “Your father would have shown her no mercy.”

That meant no. “I am not my father, now cut her down.”

“I will not endanger the lives of all who live here.” The elder swung around to touch flame to kindling, but the king had had enough of the sanctimonious windbag. Implacably he levelled his sword at the man’s throat. “I said cut her down.”

The stubborn old man’s eyes went wide. Two young men rushed to the cut the elderly woman’s bonds and caught her frail form before it sank to the ground. They looked questioningly at the white-haired man before their eyes darted to Arthur. The king motioned Merlin to take charge of the woman.

Without another word to anyone in the village, Arthur sheathed his sword and led the way back to the waiting horses. Merlin followed, carrying the old woman. His soft voice stopped Arthur in the act of mounting his horse.

“She’s ill. She needs rest and warmth.”

Arthur glanced at the sun moving lower in the sky and calculated the hours it would take them to return to Camelot. There was no way they would arrive before dark, especially carrying a sick woman.

They went only as far as Arthur deemed necessary to discourage further interference from the villagers before they set up camp. The king himself gathered wood for a fire while Merlin ministered to the feeble old woman with a tenderness Arthur found surprising for a total stranger. He would have thought that given the likely fact she was a sorceress, Merlin would have treated her with indifference at best. But then Merlin had never voiced any particular disgust with sorcery. In fact, since his guardian had more than once shown an affinity for those who used magic, it was not surprising that Merlin would show a tolerance for them as well. Gaius had all but admitted he knew Dragoon personally which meant his ward would be familiar with that crusty old sorcerer, too, maybe even a friend of his. Merlin had not hesitated to say he would use sorcery when Arthur debated whether he should make such a desperate attempt to save his father’s life. Far from showing an aversion to magic, Merlin had often demonstrated a keen desire to learn all he could from his mentor’s vast store of knowledge and Arthur would not be surprised if his servant even spent his free time reading books.

With little to do other than tend the fire, Arthur watched his friend nurse the frail, elderly woman. Clearly she had not been treated well as she awaited execution and her rattling breath indicated she had already been quite sick. Perhaps her weakened condition had prompted the village elder to attempt her execution.

Merlin’s growing ability to care for his patients was impressive. Arthur remembered his friend’s words on their trip to Ismere: ‘ _I have many talents you failed to notice_.’ Like making eggs appear and disappear into thin air while juggling and single-handedly dragging a wounded king from a battlefield when Morgana’s forces surrounded him and his knights. It actually was amazing some of the feats the inept idiot pulled off despite his clumsiness.

Of course, some of that good fortune which fell on Arthur followed Merlin as well. Like when he chased after a dragon without being fried to a crisp, or threw himself into the path of a Dorocha and lived to tell about it. Which no one else ever did. There was more to his friend than met the eye, definitely more than Arthur had seen on their first meeting. Of course, even then there had been something about Merlin, he just could never quite put his finger on it.

~

Arthur came to on the floor of the throne room, his head pounding. Had the Horn of Cathbhadh which the old woman gifted him as recompense for saving her life really been a reward? Now he had unwittingly released his father’s vengeful spirit into the world to drop a chandelier on the round table, throw an axe at Percival, and attempt to murder Guinevere.

Arthur sat up and looked around quickly, wondering where Uther’s ghost had disappeared to. It was strange the spirit had simply left. Arthur had been certain it was going to kill him and instead it had knocked him unconscious, probably to go after its next victim. The thought that Guinevere might be in danger again sent Arthur racing into the corridor.

He looked up and down the palace hallway. A heavy thud echoed through the corridor that was the sound of at least one weapon biting into wood with great force. It had come from the weapons storage area near the throne room and he darted in that direction.

The room was brightly lit although it should have been dark at this time of night. His father’s voice came from inside the room.

“It will give me great pleasure killing you.”

Arthur reached the open doorway. To his horror he saw Merlin pinned to the far wall by two spears. The spirit advanced on its helpless victim, footsteps echoing through the empty chamber.

“Father!”

When the spirit turned to see Arthur standing with the Horn of Cathbhadh held high in the air, a pleading look replaced the ghost’s murderous expression. “Arthur! No! Please! Whatever I have done, I have done for Camelot.”

He stared back coldly. He had released this spirit and he was the only one who could send it back to the Other World. As much as he had wished for his deceased father’s guidance, their views on what was best for the kingdom would never be reconciled. Nor would he allow the vengeful ghost to continue to terrorize his wife or his friends. “You’ve had your turn. Now it’s mine.” Arthur put the horn to his lips and blew a single note.

“Merlin has …” The sentence faded into a scream as the ghost was swept back to the spirit world.

It occurred to Arthur then to wonder why the spirit had attacked Merlin, when its fury had until now been directed at the commoners Arthur had knighted and the former maid he married. What did his father’s ghost have against his manservant? A cold chill of foreboding crept up Arthur’s spine as he pondered the last words Uther’s spirit had uttered: ‘Merlin has …’ _has what?_ Strangely Arthur was reminded of what he himself had said so long ago on meeting the dark-haired peasant boy: ‘There’s something about you, Merlin, I can’t quite put my finger on it.’

A horrible suspicion stole into his mind as he stared at his friend whose fear had not lessened with the disappearance of the menacing spirit. _Fear of discovery_? Arthur gave his head a mental shake. Although he did not doubt there were those with magic who went peaceably about their business in the kingdom, avoiding discovery by hiding their talents, the idea that a person with such power would be serving Camelot’s king was absurd. Magic was evil, it corrupted as it had corrupted Morgana, and there was not the slightest trace of evil in his bumbling, cheerful, loyal servant. Whatever the spirit had been trying to tell him, it was _not_ that Merlin had magic.


	3. Another's Sorrow alternate ending

Arthur left Leon, Elyan, and the other knights to stand guard outside the tomb while Princess Mithian led him and Percival to where her injured father was hidden. Mithian’s aged serving woman, Hilda, followed them into the dark passages of the cavernous tomb. It was colder than it had been in the sunlit forest outside but adrenaline kept him warm. They were so close.

The princess glanced back at Arthur. He felt a twinge of misgiving at her expression but she merely said, “The burial chamber lies just ahead, at the end of that tunnel.”

Arthur took the lead, barely controlling the thrill of triumph that soon, very soon, they would have King Rodor safely in their custody. Then it was a short journey back to Camelot and they could force that vindictive King Odin from Nemeth. Odin was a plague on the land, it would be sweet revenge to snatch the injured Rodor from under Odin’s nose, then force him to relinquish the kingdom he had stolen.

It was only a few steps until they entered a large chamber with a stone crypt in its centre.

Arthur looked around in consternation at the empty room. “I don’t understand, where’s your father?”

“He’s not here,” the princess whispered.

Arthur’s misgivings came back in full force but he did not allow his anger or his fear to colour his tone. “Then where is he?”

Mithian’s expression was guilt-ridden. “Arthur, I …”

The sound of several armed men approaching from every direction filled the crypt. Arthur drew his sword, his eyes scanning every entrance to the burial chamber, his mind running through and discarding each possible escape route. There was none. A score of Odin’s men filed in through the entrances in all four corners of the chamber.

Arthur and Percival engaged the enemy soldiers, holding their own for several minutes until they were overpowered by sheer numbers. By the time both men had been disarmed and were being forcibly held by several of Odin’s men, they had given a good account of themselves. But it had not been enough to escape the clever trap.

Percival was pinned to the crypt, his arms wrenched behind his back.

Forced to his knees, helpless to break free of the three men holding him, Arthur turned his fury on the princess who had led them into the ambush. “What wrong have I done you?“

Mithian only shook her head in response, unable to speak, her eyes anguished. She ran to embrace her grey-haired father who had been turned loose by his captors. Apparently he had served his purpose to Odin as assurance of Mithian’s cooperation.

“Arthur Pendragon at last.”

Winded from the exertion of the fight, Arthur turned his head toward King Odin’s vitriolic voice.

“I have waited many years for this moment. You killed my son. You took what was most precious from me and now you will pay the forfeit.”

The depth of his hatred was evident both in his voice and his eyes.

“And not a moment too soon,” cackled Hilda as she slowly moved her withered frame further into the chamber.

Arthur turned to stare at the grey-haired serving woman, puzzled to hear the venom in her tone.

“You are not alone in having waited for this moment, Odin.” She smiled coldly. “Appearances can be deceiving, dear brother.”

Finally Arthur realized the extent of the deception he had fallen for. He berated himself for his foolishness, his thirst for revenge against Odin, his arrogant dismissal of Guinevere’s hesitancy and Merlin’s funny feelings. Shaking his head at his own gullibility he said despairingly, “Morgana.”

She laughed triumphantly.

Odin stepped forward, sword drawn. “And now you will pay the forfeit.”

Arthur had to twist his neck to look up from the grasp Odin’s men had on him. “My father’s life, that wasn’t enough?” he demanded.

“No.” Odin’s tone was hard.

Arthur dropped his head. “So be it.” Then he looked up again at the other king. “But understand this, Odin, you kill me and you’ll have all of Camelot to answer to.”

“Camelot is nothing without its king,” Odin scoffed.

If he could have had caught his breath, Arthur would have laughed aloud at the man’s ignorance. “Then you don’t know my knights. They will hunt you, and they will find you, and they will not rest until they’re done.”

Odin considered such a fate only briefly before he steeled his expression again. “I will deal with your knights soon enough, but now your time has come.” He raised his sword.

Arthur bent his head, hoping the blow would be swift.

Without warning the ground shook, huge chunks of stone falling as the tomb disintegrated from the forces rocking it to and fro. Those who were standing were knocked off their feet.

Arthur jumped up when the hands holding him lost their grip. He wasted no time in divesting King Odin of his sword and landing a hard blow to his jaw. Arthur used the blade to strike at one of the soldiers before tossing the weapon to Percival who had shaken off his own captors. Arthur took down another of the enemies who was struggling to regain his feet and used the man’s sword to fell another of Odin’s men. He spun to see a blade raised high about to skewer him but Arthur could not bring his weapon around in time to parry the blow. He was about to raise an arm to take the force of the strike when the man crumpled to the ground, bleeding heavily from his stomach. Arthur’s eyes widened in shock to see Merlin standing there, blade in hand.

“Merlin?” Arthur stood rooted to the spot. Somehow Merlin had recovered from the blow to the head he had suffered in the woods and was in the tomb when that incredibly fortuitous quake shook the burial chamber and saved Arthur’s life. The implication of that coincidence was clear as was every other lucky accident that had worked in his favour for the last several years – Merlin was always nearby. Arthur’s own words rang in his head, echoing like a bell tolling: _there’s something about you, Merlin, I can’t quite put my finger on it_ , providing a counterpoint to what his father’s spirit had tried to say: _Merlin has_ … Merlin has magic … there’s something about you, Merlin, I can’t quite put my finger on it … Merlin has magic. Even in the heat of battle, surrounded by Odin and his men who were regrouping, Arthur could not move, could not say a word, until the sound of Merlin’s voice cut through the din.

“Hurry, this way!”

Arthur ushered King Rodor and Princess Mithian, coughing in the billows of rock dust clouding the air, out of the quaking tomb into the forest.

Odin’s pursuit was relentless. More of his soldiers joined those who had escaped from the tomb. They cut Arthur off from the handful of Camelot knights who had turned the tables on their captors with Gwaine’s help and were engaged in a pitched battle with another troop of Odin’s men.

With enemies behind as well as approaching on yet another front, Arthur led his party deeper into the woods. Finally he was forced to send Rodor and Mithian with only Percival as protection to follow the ridgeline while he and Merlin fled through the woods in the other direction, steps in front of Odin and his soldiers. He relished the chase and fight despite his danger, comfortable in a world he understood.

When he and Merlin were cornered, Arthur was glad to turn and face Odin even in the face of insurmountable odds: two of them against a dozen or more. When the arrogant fool called off his own men to duel Arthur in single combat, he was certain he would beat the other king with only a few sword thrusts. Then it was over and Arthur held his sword to Odin’s neck, ready to repay vengeance with vengeance. Merlin’s voice sliced into his thoughts. The familiar voice with its familiar wisdom that forced Arthur to take stock of what he was about to do and come up with a better way.

It was only after Odin had accepted his offer of a truce that Arthur remembered that that familiar companion had a secret, and wondered when his friend was going to tell him the truth finally.


	4. The Disir AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Merlin have the conversation they should have had.

News came to the court of Camelot from the East, word of Sir Ranulf’s death at the hands of a sorcerer named Osgar. Arthur personally led a patrol to hunt down and capture the man responsible for the death of his boyhood friend and loyal knight. Whatever the king’s feelings toward sorcerers and magic – and he was now uncertain what those were – he would ensure justice was served when a crime had been committed.

Gwaine spotted the tracks in the forest and Percival found the scrap of cloth which indicated Osgar had recently fled that way, likely knowing Arthur’s patrol was close on his heels. The knights split up, combing the forest while the king waited with Merlin and Leon by his side. At the sound of a man approaching through the trees, Arthur spun around, both his and Leon’s hands going to their sword hilts.

Osgar had been severely wounded. One hand clutched his belly as he limped toward them to drop on his knees before Arthur, but his head was held high. “Sire, my name is Osgar.”

“I know who you are,” the king said.

“I have been sent by the Disir to pass judgement on Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King,” the sorcerer said.

Leon was offended by the man’s audacity. “What right have you to pass judgement?”

“No one is above the Disir, however royal,” was the measured response. The injured man did not appeared frightened although both Arthur and his knight stood with swords drawn. “It is my duty to pass their judgement on to you, dread king.” His voice grew weaker, his hand unable to staunch the flow of blood from his wound. “My sacred duty.”

He reached into his cloak with his free hand causing Arthur and Leon to tense and raise their swords slightly. Osgar paused at their action and then slowly withdrew, not a weapon, but some kind of coin or mark.

“Your hand, Arthur Pendragon,” he ordered as if he were the royal despite being on his knees.

Arthur extended his left hand, keeping his sword clasped in his right. Osgar reverently placed the coin into Arthur’s outstretched hand with both of his. Briefly the sorcerer held his fingers over the mark he had laid on Arthur’s palm as though blessing it.

“It is done.”

“What’s the meaning of this?” Arthur demanded.

“It is both judgement and fate. You have waged war on magic, now the ancient gods answer you. The Disir have spoken, the circle of fate begins to close, for even as Camelot flowers the seeds of her destruction are being sewn.” The cadence of his tone was like a prophecy or a pronouncement of fate.

Arthur did not bother to hide his impatience. “What nonsense is this?”

“It is not too late, Arthur, not too late to find the true path.” The man began to collapse. “Redeem yourself. No further chance shall be given.” With those final words Osgar crumpled to the ground.

For a brief moment Arthur stared down at the dead man, then he called his knights to regroup. Gwaine and Elyan were found unconscious but without visible wounds, their swords a good distance from their hands. Apparently the sorcerer had given a good account of himself, but Gwaine’s second blade was bloody indicating who had dealt Osgar the fatal blow.

~

The king ordered a camp to be set up where they would wait until Gwaine and Elyan recovered. Merlin treated the wounded knights while the others celebrated their victory.

“How are they?” Arthur asked as Merlin approached the fire to help himself to the stew simmering in the camp pot. The others had long since finished their meal and were passing around skins of wine.

 “They’ll both make a full recovery.” Merlin crouched by the fire to dish up his food and did not look at the king.

Ranulf’s killer had rightfully met his end at the hands of a Camelot knight and Arthur refused to allow Merlin’s somber tone to dampen his mood. The king wondered if the other man was sympathetic to the dead criminal merely on the grounds they were both sorcerers, even though Osgar had committed murder.

“Come, Merlin, warm yourself, have a drink,” Arthur said. “We’ve triumphed.”

The king’s servant turned to face him and Arthur rolled his eyes at the serious look on Merlin’s face. Apparently he was determined to kill the celebratory atmosphere.

“Osgar could have easily killed you,” Merlin said.

“He didn’t, did he?” That was supposed to be a good thing.

“He was a sorcerer, it was well within his power.”

The king’s good mood dissipated. “He was deranged.” Whatever kinship Merlin felt with the dead man, surely he agreed that anyone who attacked Camelot’s knights had chosen to be an enemy and was subject to the kingdom’s justice. Osgar had taken arms against them more than once, with no discernable purpose Arthur could see.

“The rune mark –” Merlin began.

“A trinket, nothing more,” Arthur interrupted, determined to put an end to the conversation. “Here.” He tossed the item to Merlin. “I’ll have the jewel mounted as a memento of our success.”

~

By the next morning both Gwaine and Elyan were recovered and Arthur gave the order to strike camp and return to Camelot. He put up with Merlin’s stony countenance throughout the journey hoping the man would cheer up once they were home, but instead Arthur was forced to endure his servant’s glum face for another two days. He was even addressing the king respectfully and there had not been a single joke about Arthur’s weight or intelligence since their return.

“Are you feeling all right, Merlin?” the king asked as he followed his servant down the palace corridor.

“Fine, my lord.” Merlin did not stop walking or glance back.

Arthur rolled his eyes at the continued uncharacteristic deference in addressing him as ‘my lord’ instead of ‘cabbage head’ or ‘clotpole.’ “More and more I find your face resembles the back end of a cat.” He hoped insulting Merlin would provoke some reaction other than the gloomy expression which had been pasted to the man’s face since the incident with Osgar but it did not. “See, you don’t even laugh at my jokes anymore! Seriously, I haven’t seen you smile these past three days,” Arthur said in frustration.

Merlin stopped and turned to face him. “I’m not sure there’s a great deal to smile about.”

With that he turned on his heel and resumed walking. Arthur let out a long-suffering sigh and followed his sulky manservant to Gaius’ chamber. He could guess why Merlin had arranged this meeting; not having gotten anywhere in his attempts to convince the king of the significance of the rune mark he had enlisted his guardian’s help. Now the two of them were going to gang up on the king about this ridiculous token.

Arthur had come to the conclusion that his loyal advisor had to be aware his ward was a sorcerer, in fact had most likely been teaching the boy magic. That the respected Court Physician had been doing so right under Uther’s nose, protecting his adopted son in defiance of the laws, was a sobering thought. Although Gaius _had_ tried to tell him once, going so far as to admit he countenanced magic. Given that at the time the old man had just suffered through kidnap and torture, Arthur had not held him to account for his heretical views but now the extent of his law-breaking was clear. Sooner or later the king would have to decide what to do about that.

His servant led the way into the cluttered workroom wearing the stony expression that had become habitual since Osgar delivered his judgement.

“Sire, thank you for coming,” Gaius said respectfully.

“Don’t tell me Merlin’s got you believing his nonsense, Gaius?” The king’s tone was light but the physician did not smile.

The old man sat at his work table, the one usually piled high with books or experiments. At the moment, there was a small stack of books and the king assumed his court physician had researched the mark Arthur had gifted to Merlin.

“This is a rune mark, my lord,” Gaius said, referring to that very item.

“So everyone keeps telling me.” Arthur took a seat and glanced up at his servant who stood with arms crossed, staring down at him.

The physician turned the mark over in his hands as he continued to speak. “In times past this mark aroused great fear. It was given to those found wanting by the court of the Disir.”

“The Disir?” Merlin asked for him when Arthur refused to show any curiosity.

“The highest court of the Old Religion. Three women were chosen at birth to be seers and soothsayers, their entire task was to interpret the word of the triple goddess. When they sat in judgement their word was final.” Gaius’ expression was grave, as though such a judgement still carried weight.

The king would have to be the voice of reason here. “This worn-out superstition has no relevance now. I can’t see what bearing it has on me or Camelot.”

“Because, Sire, the Disir have seen fit to give you this. This is the judgement of the gods against you.”

The old man’s serious tone gave Arthur pause. “This is nonsense, surely.” He hoped his voice had not betrayed a tiny sliver of foreboding.

“The Old Religion held that the rune mark not only contained a man’s guilt but the path that the gods had chosen for him. That is why it is both a judgement and fate.”

Arthur decided enough was enough. “I make my own path.” He stood and walked to the door.

“Do you?”

Arthur paused as Gaius’s words caught up with him.

“It is said that only the gods can alter a man’s fate and even then only when he repents and appeases them.”

The king turned to face the old man where he sat holding the rune mark. “You don’t believe any of this, Gaius?”

The physician tossed the coin-like item on his work table. “I am an old man, Sire, old enough to be wary of dismissing other peoples’ beliefs.”

Arthur did not respond, but he walked over to the table and retrieved the rune mark before he left.

~

Later that day as Merlin was assisting him Arthur could not contain his frustration any longer. “Have I not made Camelot a fairer and more just kingdom?”

“You have, my lord.”

Again with the respectful ‘my lord.’ Arthur gritted his teeth in annoyance.

“Have I not rid it of the cruelties and injustices of the past?” Let Merlin try to deny Arthur was not the vindictive tyrant his father had turned into at the mere mention of magic.

“You have.”

Although Merlin had agreed with him, Arthur did not feel it had been a ringing endorsement. A tiny voice inside him whispered that if his friend were truly convinced of his fairness and sense of justice then Merlin would have admitted by now what he was. “I am not my father,” Arthur protested aloud, both to his servant and his own inner voice.

“I know.” It sounded sincere.

Arthur gave his friend ample time to say the words that would prove his trust, but although there was a conflicted look on the dark-haired man’s face he said nothing more.

“Then why do they judge me so?” Arthur demanded. _And why don’t you trust me enough to tell me the truth_ , he added silently.

“I’m not sure I’m the person to ask.” There was a haunted look in his servant’s eyes now.

“I am asking you, Merlin, man to man,” Arthur said steadily, waiting, hoping.

“Perhaps they feel you’re worthy enough to be judged,” Merlin said.

For a moment Arthur did not follow. “What do you mean by that?”

“Judgement is wasted on a man who won’t listen.”

The statement gave Arthur pause, wondering if the Disir felt that his tempering of the persecution of sorcery, his truce with the Druids, was not enough. Maybe, like Merlin, they were waiting for some further sign of his commitment to real change. “You think I should take them seriously?”

Merlin wore his wise advisor face. “I think you already have.”

Arthur stared at his friend for a long moment.

Finally Merlin broke the silence. “If there’s nothing else?”

“No, thank you.” Arthur watched his servant leave, wondering what he was supposed to do to earn his friend’s trust, to appease these ancient gods if they existed, to prove himself worthy to everyone who doubted him.

~

King Arthur sat in front of the small work table in his chamber but parchment, ink and quills remained untouched. He was rolling the mark between his fingers, staring at it as if it held the answers to all his questions but stubbornly refused to enlighten him.

Guinevere came in with a tray of food. “Arthur, I thought you might be hungry, you ate nothing at supper.”

“Thank you, that’s kind.” He smiled gratefully at her before his gaze was drawn back to the mark. He flipped it between his fingers, looking at it from every angle, trying to discern its secrets.

Guinevere sat on the arm of his chair. “He was a deranged, desperate man, you said so.”

“Merlin was right, he could have killed me but instead he thought it was more important to give me this, and he gave his life doing so.” Arthur held up the rune mark.

“Who can fathom the mind of a fanatic?”

He could hear the frustration in her voice and appreciated her efforts to ease his self-doubt even though those efforts were failing. “It wasn’t what was in his eyes, Guinevere. There was no hatred there, it was something else, pity almost. Why would a sorcerer pity a king?” It was a comfort to say the words out loud, to share with her the burden of his doubt. In their years of marriage the only thing he had not told her was his discovery of Merlin’s magic, and that only because he felt it was not his secret to share. He was convinced she did not know, nor did any of the knights, even Gwaine. It was a consolation to know Merlin had hidden the truth from everyone else as well.

“Come, eat something,” Guinevere urged.

“What if the Disir are right? What if there is something I am supposed to do and I haven’t done it?” _What was it Merlin was waiting for before he confessed the truth about himself?_

“Arthur, you are a good and just king.”

“The Disir don’t seem to think so.” Not that the judgement of hither-to unheard of ancient gods was as disheartening as his friend’s lack of faith in him.

“That is because they don’t know you like I do. If they did they would feel nothing but love.”

She wove her fingers into his hair and he leaned his head against her comforting warmth. He allowed her sympathy and caring to soothe his troubled mind but he could not let go of the questions that had been raised recently: by the Disir, by the discovery that a trusted friend had been lying to him since the day they met.

~

It was not yet dawn when Arthur pounded on Gaius’ door loud enough to wake the occupants of the physician’s chamber despite the early hour. A cat hissed at the banging and bolted down the corridor.

Gaius unbarred the door in his night clothes. “My lord?”

The king was still dressed since he had not gone to bed. “Where can I find the Disir?”

“Sire?”

Arthur was in no mood to deal with any more false protestations of ignorance. “If anyone knows how to find them it’s you.”

“Until yesterday I didn’t know they still existed,” the old man protested.

“They do, as we know.” Arthur held up the rune mark in the physician’s face. “Again, where can I find them?”

“Sire, I do not think it is wise –”

“Gaius, do I look like a man to trifle with?”

The physician took one look and rattled off the location of the ancient pool used by the Disir to make their divinations. Arthur was fairly certain that from Gaius’ description he could locate the source of the spring in the grove of yew trees in the White Mountains.

“Thank you.” The king turned his attention to Merlin, standing in the middle of the room, also in his night clothes with a solemn look on his face. “We leave within the hour,” Arthur ordered curtly. He turned on his heel and marched away down the corridor.

~

The two of them made their way out of the city at first light. They left the well-travelled roads around Camelot to head across open country dotted with scrub brush and rocky outcroppings, making good speed toward the White Mountains. When they reached the hill above the sacred grove Gaius had described, they paused to look down at their destination and Arthur glanced over at his companion who had remained uncharacteristically silent during the trip. He could not read the look Merlin gave him.

At the edge of the grove, they tethered their horses and made their way into the thicket on foot. Totems made of twigs hung in the trees and Arthur brushed them aside as he forced his way further into the dense woods. Finally the trees gave way to a tiny clearing which sheltered the entrance to a cave. Arthur strode forward but Merlin’s voice stopped him.

“My lord.”

“What is it, Merlin?” he demanded impatiently.

“This place is sacred.”

Arthur looked at the opening in the ground covered by dense undergrowth and shielded by yew trees. “It’s a cave, Merlin,” he pointed out.

“It’s more than that.”

Arthur studied the strange look on his servant’s face and glanced back at the opening. Merlin’s rapt gaze was riveted on the emptiness beyond the mouth of the cave but Arthur knew only that whoever or whatever was in that dark place, their messenger had killed one of his knights. “It’s a cave, the same as any other.”

Merlin turned his gaze from the cave to Arthur’s royal sword. “You can’t go armed into a sacred place.”

Arthur felt his eyebrows shoot up. “You want us to go in there unarmed?” He almost laughed but his friend’s grave expression sobered him. “Of all the ridiculous things you’ve ever said, Merlin, and there’s been a few, that is the most ridiculous by far.” Without wasting another moment Arthur turned and strode into the cave mouth certain Merlin would follow at his heels.

It was several degrees cooler inside the cave than it had been in the bright sunshine outside. Tree roots grew profusely throughout the cavern, occasionally forcing them to duck to continue their forward progress. More totems similar to those Arthur had seen in the grove decorated the enclosed space so thickly that Arthur had to bat one aside. It swung back to smack him in the face and impatiently he knocked it to the sandy floor. The smell of dank vegetation choked the air. Arthur wondered how they were able to see inside the cavern even though sunlight did not penetrate past the cave’s opening.

Finally the narrow passageway let out into a wide open cavern, a spring-fed pool in its centre. Arthur looked up but he could not make out the ceiling of the cave nor could he determine the source of the dim light which eerily filled the space. At the far side of the pool, standing on the rocks as though on a stage, stood three figures wearing hooded cloaks, each holding a tall staff with a cone-shaped point. Although he could not see their faces, he was certain they glared down at him disapprovingly.

“We have been expecting you,” one of them said. He could not tell which.

“I am Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot. I’ve come to know the meaning of this.” He tossed the rune mark on the sand beside the pool. “This grove is in the kingdom of Camelot, subject to its laws, its decrees. Every man, however humble, however noble, has the right to be judged only by his peers yet you judge me in my absence. Explain yourselves.” He folded his arms and waited for them to respond.

They spoke one at a time, although it seemed to be all one sentence, almost as if the three women were speaking with one mind.

“We do not judge.”

“We do not condemn.”

“We are but the messenger of the one who presides over all.”

“Who sees all.”

“Who knows all.”

“The triple goddess.”

The last was said in unison and Arthur gave up trying to follow which one of the hooded figures was speaking.

“And you, Arthur Pendragon, have angered her.”

His head came up at that. “How so? Have I not been an honourable king? Have I not made Camelot a fair and just kingdom?”

“So much is true, but your laws promote hatred.”

“Fear.”

“Persecution.”

“Even unto slaughter.”

“I fight against superstition and dispense justice to criminals, that is all,” he protested.

“End the oppression of magic, Arthur.”

“Or risk the ire of the goddess.”

“The destruction of everything you most value.”

“The end of your reign.”

“The fall of Camelot itself.”

His actions hardly justified such a sentence. “I refuse to be judged by those who do not know me.”

“You are known, Arthur.”

“You have always been known.”

“And now you come here to the most sacred of the sacred.”

“To the very heart of the Old Religion.”

“Carrying weapons.”

“Trampling hallowed relics.”

“Treating our sacred space like you do your kingdom – with arrogance!”

“With conceit!”

“With insolence!”

“You are not worthy of the loyalty of those who serve you faithfully.”

Arthur heard a swift indrawn breath behind him but he did not turn. His eyes remained fixed on the three heavily cloaked figures standing above him holding their staffs, addressing him as though he were an errant child, and realized they _knew_. They knew about Merlin, and they were aware that he knew. But he did not understand what they expected him to do about it. It was hardly his fault that his servant had not confided the truth to him despite their years of friendship. He had softened the kingdom’s stance against sorcery; he had made peace with the Druids allowing them to practice the Old Religion and even to practice magic within their own camps. There had been no further beheadings or burnings unless sorcery was used in a crime. Surely there was nothing more he could do to prove his tolerance and sense of justice.

“Arthur Pendragon.”

“King of Camelot.”

“Embrace magic.”

“Learn its ways.”

“Accept our people.”

They were asking him to overturn the laws of the kingdom, to reverse his father’s decrees, to go beyond mere tolerance. “You know I can’t do that.” It came out instinctively but then he asked himself if he could. If he should.

“Consider carefully.”

Arthur stared from one to the other of the mysterious figures but they were done speaking. They would say nothing further nor answer his questions with anything other than the cryptic phrases they had already given him. Knowing he had been dismissed, Arthur turned and led the way back out of the cave.

He stepped into the sunshine, blinking, allowing his eyes to focus on the grove surrounding the little open space. The heat of the day was welcome after the cool dampness of the cavern. He took several steps away from the dark opening of the cave to seat himself on the ground with his back to a yew tree. Merlin looked at him in puzzlement and Arthur gestured at his companion to sit.

As soon as his friend was seated Arthur pinned him with a look. “How did you know this place was sacred?”

“That’s obvious.”

“Pretend it isn’t,” Arthur said drily.

A faraway look came across the other man’s face as his gaze moved around the grove. “Everything here, it’s so full of life; every tree, every leaf, every insect, it’s as if the world is … vibrating, as if everything is much more than itself.”

The blond king stared at his friend, thinking about all the ridiculous things the idiot had ever said, how he had known the things he had known, every funny feeling he had had. “You feel all that?”

Merlin’s eyes came back to the king’s face, surprised. “Don’t you?”

Arthur slowly shook his head, his gaze locked on his friend, sure he would say something now. There had never been a better opportunity.

Merlin dropped his eyes as though afraid he might have given something away. “What will you do?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur said, staring at Merlin. “I’ve seen what misery unfettered sorcery brings.”

A slight flush tinged Merlin’s cheeks but he did not raise his eyes.

“Before my father outlawed magic, Camelot was almost destroyed by sorcery. In my time I have seen many use their power for vengeance and Morgana has used it for nothing but evil.” Arthur watched closely for any reaction to that statement. “What would you do in my place?” he questioned softly.

Merlin’s eyes jumped to meet his gaze. “Me?”

It was almost a squeak and Arthur would have laughed if he were not so angry. It was becoming more and more clear that Merlin had no intention of revealing his secret.

“I’m just a lackey, maker of beds,” Merlin said.

“Lackeys can be wise.” Arthur’s tone hinted at his barely-contained anger. His servant could prattle on about almost anything and yet when it counted, when he had something to say that he should have admitted long ago, he chose to be evasive. “It’s not like you to be silent.”

“The kingdom’s future is at stake. You must protect Camelot, must protect the world you spent your life building, a just and fair kingdom for all.”

“For _all_ , Merlin? Even sorcerers?”

Merlin blanched.

“Who is Emrys?” Arthur leaned closer to continue his relentless questioning.

“What? Who? How would I know?”

“I thought Gaius may have told you,” Arthur said with forced casualness.

Merlin shook his head silently, his face pale. Arthur could see the inner struggle reflected there.

“Morgana mentioned the name when we faced her in Camelot’s throne room, before she inexplicably lost her powers, and Mordred said it was Emrys who saved me in Ismere.” More of those lucky coincidences that always happened when his servant was near. “I thought you might have asked Gaius about it.”

Arthur waited for several heartbeats, eyes fixed on Merlin’s ashen face. When his mouth opened and closed without any words coming out Arthur leaned back against the tree in defeat.

“When were you going to tell me?” he ground out. “On my deathbed?”

“No!” Merlin protested. “I would have told you, I was going to tell you.” He let out the breath he must have been holding. “What gave it away, was it what I said about this place? Or what the Disir said?”

“Tree branches fall, trained warriors miss their target in the heat of battle, sometimes luck is with you and things happen, but an earthquake hits as Odin is about to chop my head off and suddenly there you are? Like every other time good fortune comes my way?” Arthur had believed Merlin never really meant all those jokes about his lack of intelligence but maybe he was wrong, maybe his friend really did think he was stupid.

“You’ve known that long?” Merlin whispered.

“Long?” Arthur snapped. “A few weeks is long? It’s been years, Merlin. It’s been almost four years since my father died and you could have told me any time if you had trusted me enough.”

“It wasn’t a matter of trust!”

“It was entirely a matter of trust. What did you think I was going to do? Chop your head off?” He paused to get his temper under control.

Merlin looked down at his hands which were twisting the edge of his tunic. “I thought you would send me away.”

“Just say it already,” Arthur demanded. “Say the words.”

Merlin met his eyes. “I’m a sorcerer. I have magic.”

Arthur was surprised the admission gave him a jolt even though he had known. “There, you see? You confessed and you’re still alive. Nothing has changed.”

“No, nothing has changed,” Merlin repeated softly, fiddling with the hem of his tunic.

Exasperated, Arthur threw up his hands. “What do you want from me? You were right beside me in that village when I forced them to cut that old woman down instead of burning her at the stake.”

“But the village elder was only enforcing your laws.”

Arthur looked sharply at Merlin’s downcast expression.

“And you were pleased at Osgar’s death.”

“He was a criminal who murdered one of my knights,” Arthur said. “You cannot defend his actions simply because he was a sorcerer.”

Without looking up Merlin continued. “Gwaine said Osgar was willing to be brought to you; he only struck out when they pointed their blades at his throat and even then he only disarmed them. It was after Gwaine ran him through that he attacked in self defense. What if it was the same with Ranulf?”

Arthur stared at him. Was Ranulf’s death – and Osgar’s – merely a matter of prejudice provoking suspicion and unnecessary violence?

“The place where we buried Osgar, I went back and built a marker.” Merlin said it defiantly, eyes downcast.

Arthur considered his servant breaking the law simply by marking the grave of a sorcerer because it had been important to him to do so. In fact the king himself was breaking his own laws by not having arrested Merlin. If he only applied the law to those he did not know, making exceptions where he was personally involved, was that justice? He felt his anger drain away and his confusion return. “I am expected to overturn what my father spent the last two decades of his life enforcing? Isn’t that what Morgana has been attempting for years now? Why not join forces with her?”

Merlin gave an exasperated sigh. “Morgana has done as much to convince people of the evils of magic as Uther ever did.”

The king was struck by the truth of that statement, as well as by the earnestness in Merlin’s voice as he continued.

“But there is no evil in magic, only in the hearts of people who use their power to force others to bow to their will.”

Arthur realized that statement applied to Uther’s power as king as well as Morgana’s sorcery. “So I am supposed to change the laws, change attitudes that have been entrenched for a generation, and if I bring magic back to Camelot then the Disir will rescind their judgement?”

“Not just Camelot. You are destined to unite all of Albion.”

Merlin said it like it was a simple task but the king stared in disbelief. It seemed impossible and Arthur wondered how he could achieve all of that when he was the youngest and least experienced ruler in the five kingdoms and beyond. “You expect me to accomplish this?”

Merlin looked him in the eye. “I would have you become the king you are destined to be.”

Arthur had heard his servant’s prattle about destiny before. On the other hand, maybe this was his out. “If it is fated it doesn’t matter what I do, does it? It will still happen.”

“There’s a difference between fate and destiny. You have been given the gifts but it’s up to you to use them, to fulfill your destiny.”

Merlin said it matter-of-factly, certain of Arthur’s ability to accomplish such a difficult goal.

“What is your part in this? You’re the one with all the talk of destiny – it should be your job to fulfill prophecies.”

“I can’t do it without you, you’re the Once and Future King.”

Arthur gave up trying to make sense of the gibberish about prophecies and strange titles and destiny. “What do you want from me, Merlin?”

“I want you to know who I really am.”

“I know who you really are,” Arthur said softly.

Merlin gave him a puzzled look.

“You are brave, and loyal, and occasionally – very occasionally – wise.””

“I meant what makes all that possible. Without magic I’m nothing.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” At Arthur’s words Merlin’s startled gaze jumped to meet his. Arthur remembered saying, ‘I’m good with a sword, that’s all,’ when Merlin tried to convince him that he deserved to be king, that he was special. “You’re still the same person I knew before I realized you had magic. A good friend. Even a moderately skilled physician.”

“I never thought you would say that, that you would ever accept magic or me.” Merlin’s eyes were brimming and Arthur realized with a pang how long his friend had waited to have this conversation. “I gave up when your father died and you said magic was evil and dangerous.”

“I was grieving. Odin was the one responsible for my father’s death; he may not have wielded the blade but he hired the assassin. Whether or not that old sorcerer could have saved my father’s life and chose not to or deliberately hastened his end or was just powerless to change the inevitable I don’t know. Dragoon can answer to that if I ever have the opportunity to speak with him.”

“I’ll answer to that now.”

Arthur’s gaze snapped to Merlin’s face. To his eyes. The same eyes as the old sorcerer. His breath backed up in his lungs.

“I tried to save Uther, I swear. But Morgana had planted an enchantment that reversed my spell.”

The king tried to sort through his emotions about sorcery and his father’s death and how Merlin could have been involved, then gave up trying to make sense of it all. Gaius had told him he would understand in time. It was clear now that the old physician had spoken about Merlin, that one day Arthur would understand everything Merlin had done for him. He ran his hands through his hair. “What is supposed to happen now?”

“You change the world. You allow sorcery to be practiced again, let us live freely, and we show people magic can be a force for good. And you unite the kingdoms so we can all live in peace together.”

Arthur started to shake his head before he took note of the simple faith shining in Merlin’s eyes. Faith in him. “How do I do that?”

“With my help.”

“Your help? What will you do?” Despite his friend having hitherto unknown powers it was hard to imagine how his good-natured, bumbling servant could assist in uniting kingdoms.

“Background stuff, like I always do.”

In spite of the nonchalant tone Arthur suspected there was more, much more, he had yet to find out about his servant. He had known there was something about Merlin, something that made the dark-haired young man fearless. No, not fearless, he was too smart for that – brave.

Arthur thought about an earthquake conjured in a blink and what had followed. “You’re the reason Morgana never joined Odin in pursuing us from that tomb, aren’t you? Did you do the same thing you did in Ismere? What would you have done when Odin had us trapped if he had not chosen to face me alone in single combat?”

Merlin shrugged. “I would have had to stop him and his soldiers.”

“There were a dozen of them against the two of us.”

“I would have given them fair warning.”

Arthur stared disbelievingly. He realized his mouth was open and shut it. “I trusted you. Why did you not trust me enough to tell me about your … talent?”

“I’m sorry, Arthur. I was wrong not to tell you, one of my many mistakes,” he said. “Did you really figure it out for yourself?”

Arthur was fairly certain he should be insulted by that.

“You never noticed before,” Merlin continued curiously.

“All the inexplicable good fortune that happened right when I needed it had to be magic, I just never knew who was involved. And I didn’t want to know. At the same time I couldn’t understand how you did that trick with the sword in the stone to go along with your ridiculous story and there is nothing believable about you being able to juggle when you can’t catch _anything_. Then the look in your eyes when my father’s spirit tried to tell me – it was finally too much. I just didn’t want to admit it to myself until it was staring me in the face. That quake wasn’t an accident and you were right there, like you always are.” He tried to recall in detail every other strange event of the past seven years. “What else did I not notice?”

A familiar grin spread across Merlin’s face. “How long do you want to be here?”

“I’ve got all day,” Arthur said levelly.

“One day!” Merlin’s pained expression appeared to be genuine.

Arthur’s brow furrowed, wondering how much he _had_ missed taking note of. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation in Guinevere’s presence. She’ll need to know anyway.”

“How are you going to tell her?”

A smile touched Arthur’s face at the nervous tremor in his friend’s voice. “I am _not_ telling her that her closest friend has been lying to her for years, _you_ are.”

Merlin looked at him wide-eyed. “She might get mad.”

“I was mad, that didn’t bother you.”

“You getting mad at me is a daily occurrence, but I care what Gwen thinks of me.”

Arthur smiled. “Better she’s mad at you than at me.”

“Better for who?”

“Me.”

A somber look came over Merlin’s face. “Gwen needs to know the truth, but I’m not sure it should become common knowledge yet that I’m a sorcerer.”

“Why?”

“If you’re going to change the laws, it would be better if no one can claim you are acting under an enchantment.” It was said slowly as though Merlin were choosing his words carefully.

“That’s ridiculous! You couldn’t use a spell to control me.” The guilty look was telling. “Merlin?”

“It was to save your life, I promise. We needed to get you out of Camelot; the city had fallen and Morgana’s troops were coming for you but you would never have left without some persuasion.”

The king thought back to his forced flight. “Are you the reason I was dressed like a village idiot and behaving like a simpleton?”

“You were a nice simpleton, kind and thoughtful.” Merlin wore a dreamy expression as though recalling a particularly fond memory.

Arthur recalled his intense embarrassment at being seen in such ridiculous clothes and being forced to pretend he was completely witless. “What was the reason for me to overturn the laws banning magic instead of chopping your head off?”

“Destiny. I would hate to think I saved your life all those times for nothing.”

“I thought maybe you saved my life because we were friends and you didn’t want to lose me.”

Merlin grinned. “That, too. It’ll be much easier now that I don’t have to wait for you to be knocked unconscious before I use magic to save us.”

“That never happens!”

“Yes it does. Surprisingly regularly.”

The king stared at his servant for a long moment. “You know if any of this is going to work you have to start being honest with me.”

“Fair enough.”

Arthur worried at the mischievous glint in Merlin’s eyes.

“It wasn’t an accident,” Merlin said.

Arthur was puzzled.

“When you tripped on the chamber pot last week, that wasn’t an accident.”

Arthur’s surprise at the admission was quickly replaced by his rising temper.

“And that rash, the painful, red, itchy one …”

“I get the idea.” Had he really thought that there was no trace of evil in his friend? “What happened to magic as a force for good?”

“That wasn’t evil, it was just horseplay.”

“Horseplay?” At the innocent nod he received Arthur’s anger abruptly dissipated in an urge to laugh at having his own words thrown back at him. “Fine. I stop hitting you and no more … horseplay.”

“Agreed.”

“And you have to tell me what’s really going on.”

“Then you have to listen to me.”

“And you are never using that mind control spell on me again.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

They grinned at each other. Arthur got to his feet. “You can start explaining things on the journey home.”

Merlin followed suit and they began to make their way back through the dense thicket.

“Well, on the first day we met …”


	5. Winter, Fourth Year of Arthur’s Reign

The sun was past its zenith as the two riders neared Camelot, though it had not yet been first light when they left early that morning. The day had dawned bright and clear but now the wind picked up and clouds darkened the sky as they journeyed back from the White Mountains. Merlin found it strange to think what else had changed in those few hours.

“You cheated!” Arthur said.

Merlin felt a stab of annoyance. “I did not, you used your skills and talents and I used mine.”

“You can’t use magic in a duel with maces.” Arthur sniffed. “You’re lucky I beat you anyway or you might have been caught.”

“You only beat me because Gaius distracted me.”

“He probably saved your life. That wasn’t particularly bright, using magic in the marketplace like that.”

“You were going to kill me.”

“I wasn’t going to kill you, just teach you a lesson.”

“About not interfering with rich, spoiled bullies?”

“I was not a bully!”

“You’re lucky I have been willing to use magic even though it could have gotten me killed. It’s saved your life more times than I can count.”

When Arthur did not snap back, Merlin glanced sideways to see the king staring at him with an odd look on his face. On anybody else Merlin might have thought it was gratitude.

“I suppose that’s true, isn’t it?” Arthur said. Then the look of revelation was replaced by a familiar teasing grin. “You might want to emphasize that point when you explain all this to Guinevere.”

Merlin’s gut did a swoop at the thought of Gwen’s reaction to his imminent confession. By the time they had ridden through the city gates into the citadel courtyard and turned their horses over to the grooms, his mind had run through every possible outcome of admitting to Gwen he was a sorcerer. He mumbled a response to the usual cheery welcome of Tyr Seward, the round-faced boy so proud to be the king’s groom. Merlin found it disconcerting that in all the time he had agonized over when to tell Arthur the truth he had never questioned what Gwen might think. He had always assumed their friendship would be unaffected, but now the moment was at hand he was not so certain.

Gwen met them on the landing before they could get further into the palace than the staircase leading to the royal apartments. Merlin hung back as she threw her arms around Arthur. “You were gone before I was even awake. Did you sleep at all?”

The king shook his head.

She stepped back to survey her husband quizzically. “The message said you left before first light to visit these Disir. Did they tell you what you needed to know?”

Arthur gave Merlin a sideways glance before meeting Gwen’s eyes. “Yes and no.” He took the queen’s arm and led her toward the royal chamber.

She turned her questioning look from Arthur to Merlin but he refused to meet her eyes as he followed them.

“What does that mean?” she asked Arthur.

“You need to know everything but it’s a discussion we will hold in private.”

“That sounds ominous.” She frowned at the look Arthur traded with Merlin.

Once the three of them were alone in the royal chamber, Arthur seated Gwen at the table and took the chair next to her. She turned an expectant gaze on him but he merely looked fixedly at Merlin who stand inside the door as though rooted to the spot. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“What is going on?” Gwen gave Arthur an exasperated look. “First a deranged man gives you a meaningless token, which bothers you so much you’re compelled to seek some ancient goddess. Then you come back here all mysterious saying there’s something I need to know but you don’t seem about to share it with me.”

“I’m a sorcerer,” Merlin blurted.

Gwen’s brow puckered. “What?”

“I have magic,” Merlin said more steadily.

“But that’s ridiculous.” Gwen grinned but her smile faded at Merlin’s anxious expression. She turned to Arthur. “That can’t be.”

When Arthur did not refute the admission, Gwen turned a horrified look on Merlin.

“No,” she whispered. “You saw what magic did to Morgana, you can’t let that happen to you! Please.” Gwen leapt from her chair to stand in front of Merlin, staring at him as though he was about to sprout horns. “She changed.”

Holding Gwen’s gaze, Merlin said forcefully, “It was not having magic that changed Morgana. And it won’t change me because I was born with it.”

Gwen gasped. “You mean it isn’t something you just discovered?”

Merlin shook his head. “I’ve always had magic, it’s who I am.”

“But you … all this time …”

“I’m still the same person, I swear.”

He waited with baited breath while Gwen stared at him for an endless moment. Then she wrapped him in a hug. “Promise you won’t ever change.”

Relief swept through him as he hugged her back. “I won’t change.”

When Gwen let go and stepped back she tipped her head. “Then, those strange things that have happened, I – we all – owe you thanks, don’t we?”

Merlin felt a flush creep up his neck at her intense scrutiny.

Arthur was looking back and forth between them, anticipation fading from his expression. “Aren’t you going to get mad at him? He’s lied to us, you know.”

“I understand why he felt that was necessary, at least at the beginning,” Gwen said. She narrowed her gaze at Arthur. “How is it you found out? Was this what the Disir told you?”

“No.” Arthur shifted in his seat. “I realized when that earthquake shook the tomb as Odin was about to execute me and Merlin was just _there_. Again.”

Gwen frowned. “You’ve known for a fortnight and you didn’t confide in me?”

Arthur looked at her, wide-eyed. “You’re angry at me? He’s been lying for years!”

Gwen led Merlin to the table and he shot Arthur a gloating look behind her back as he sat.

The queen took her seat again, folded her hands on the table, then looked at Arthur. “Now what? What does all this have to do with that coin thing and the Disir?”

Arthur glanced at Merlin but he merely crossed his arms without speaking, intending to let Arthur do the explaining now.

The king faced Guinevere. “Apparently it’s my job to end the persecution of magic and unite all the kingdoms in peace.”

“That’s going to be a lot of work.” Gwen thought a moment. “This will entail a set of royal edicts sent to every corner of Camelot, and we should inform the other monarchs beginning with the rulers of the Five Kingdoms. It would be politic to advise the Round Table Council before making any public announcements.”

Merlin gave Arthur an amused look, thinking how much the king disliked speeches and paperwork. Then Merlin remembered they had left before daybreak and Gaius had no idea of all that had transpired that day. The sorcerer jumped to his feet.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Arthur snapped, looking more and more appalled as Gwen began ticking off items on her fingers, listing imminent recipients of all the necessary correspondence. “You have speeches and stuff to write.”

“I have to let Gaius know what’s going on.” Merlin’s bright smile at the thought of sharing this news with his guardian dimmed. “He’s going to think I’m to blame for your finding out about my magic. Who would believe you figured it out for yourself?”

“You should make more of an effort to stay on my good side,” Arthur said. “As of now I can still have you executed as a sorcerer.”

“Then who would do all your paperwork?” Merlin responded with an unapologetic grin.

~

Arthur turned and retraced his footsteps across his chamber, then turned and traced them back again. In the years since he had become king he could not recall being this nervous prior to a Round Table meeting. Last night he had lain awake rehearsing what he intended to say today, running over and over the reasons he, Guinevere, and Merlin had enumerated as to why the sudden change in laws. A moment ago when Guinevere held his hand and looked at him with compete faith he had been full of self-assurance, but she had stepped away to don her jewellery and his confidence had left with her.

Merlin walked in, without knocking, and the king immediately ceased pacing and tried to look relaxed. He had probably not succeeded in his appearance of calm because Merlin gave him one glance before executing an uncharacteristically deferential bow.

“Sire, they are all assembled.”

Arthur tried not to gape at the unaccustomed use of his proper title.

Then Merlin gave him a familiar grin. “You’ll do fine, Arthur. This is your destiny.”

The king straightened where he stood. At the same time Guinevere appeared beside him and took his right arm. She looked up at him with utter trust in his ability to convince a room full of people who had spent a lifetime being taught the evils of magic that it had been a lie and they were going to change it. She gave his arm a squeeze and he laid his left hand on top of hers. “Let’s go.”

Arthur escorted Guinevere to her chair at his left before sitting at the Round Table himself. As soon as he had done so, the knights and his other most trusted advisors took their own seats. The king looked around at their faces as the usual reports were given and questions were asked and answered, voices blurring together. He and Guinevere were more silent than usual, but it did not appear that any of the others had noticed.

He was also aware in a way he had never been before of Merlin standing behind him. He had a sudden urge to have his friend sitting beside him, as it had been at the first round table. But it would not do. Outside of the citadel with only knights as company, none would have thought twice about Merlin joining them, but here it would be questioned. There would be enough disruption today without casting further suspicion on the king’s judgement.

Leon finished his recitation and sat down.

“Thank you,” Arthur said although he had only half listened. “There is a matter I want to discuss now.” A note in his voice or Guinevere’s sudden stiffness must have alerted the others around the table because there was a silence more complete than usual in such a large group. All eyes turned to the king. “I am repealing all of the laws against sorcery and sorcerers. The edicts are signed and will go out at the end of our meeting today.”

Gwaine had just picked up his goblet which he set back down with a clunk. The sound echoed through the chamber as loudly as a bell. Arthur met the looks of astonishment calmly.

“But … why?” Leon finally asked.

“Morgana is out there and no doubt planning her next assault. As long as we continue to persecute those with magic we create sympathizers for her cause. We must stop making enemies within our own citizenry when it is important that we band together against the greater threat. And we know Morgana will use her power against us, we must be able to fight magic with magic.”

“But, Sire, it would be better if magic were destroyed and no one could use it,” Sir Aldric croaked hoarsely, his one good eye fixed on the king. Aldric had served Arthur as loyally as he had served Uther and the loss of one eye was not the only disfigurement he bore as testimony to his many years fighting for Camelot.

“Magic cannot be destroyed, it’s part of the world and always will be.” Arthur managed not to turn to Merlin for support as he said the words; they sounded foreign to his own ears. “My father tried and failed. All we have accomplished is to make powerful enemies and drive away those who could help us.”

“This will tear apart the Five Kingdoms, we will be plunged back into war after generations of peace.”

Sir Ector had spoken in the measured tones Arthur remembered well from his childhood. He highly respected the man who had fostered and trained him as a boy, and the king was not surprised that it was Ector who voiced the possible outcome Arthur feared most.

He met the grey-haired man’s eyes. “I hope it won’t come to that, but it may be inevitable regardless. King Urien has been testing the strength of our alliances as he has been testing the defenses along our border since my father fell ill after Morgana’s betrayal. Urien believes Camelot to be weak under its ‘boy king’ as he calls me. I do not want a war, but if he uses my actions today as an excuse to declare one, I am prepared to defend my kingdom and my convictions.” There was muttering and a few glances were exchanged. “I believe that King Olaf and King Gwynllyw will support me, or at least they will not challenge Camelot’s acceptance of sorcery. King Alined is the wild card, no one knows his loyalties.”

“He has none,” Ector said flatly.

“Odin has no prejudice against magic although the terms of our treaty forbid him from allying again with Morgana, and so far he has kept the terms of my truce to the letter,” Arthur continued.

“As far as we know,” Leon said.

“I plan to journey to Nemeth and confirm for myself that Deorham’s troops are gone from Rodor’s kingdom.”

“But King Rodor banned all forms of magic within his kingdom, how will he receive your new edicts?” Ector asked, watching the king closely.

“That is the second purpose for my visit: to convince Rodor to remain our ally. Lord Bayard has pledged to renew with me the treaty he struck with my father. Neither he nor Queen Annis have any quarrel with magic, so I don’t expect either of them to withdraw their support on the basis of Camelot’s new laws. And Lord Godwyn has long been our ally, I believe he can be convinced to overlook any difference of philosophy.”

“Are we to forget the times that sorcerers have attacked us? The times magic has been used to strike at the heart of this kingdom?” Aldric demanded in his gravelly voice.

Arthur knew no logic would remove the deep-seated belief in the evils of magic held by some of his people. All he intended to do was express his own conviction and hope their trust in him held their prejudice in check. “Magic has also saved us many times. We all know of occasions when more than luck was on our side: the sudden end of Cornelius Sigan’s assault, the collapse of the army of skeletons attacking us from within while Cenred’s troops assaulted our walls, the defeat of Morgause’s immortal army. I’m certain many of us can recall a moment when we felt as if someone was watching over us, keeping us from harm. If we cannot yet acknowledge our shadow guardians, at least we can ensure they are not hunted as criminals.” Arthur did not miss certain speculative glances sent his way. At least a few of those around the table already suspected their king knew more about the use of sorcery in his kingdom than he would share with them today.

“You are not asking for our input or counsel are you?” Ector said.

“I am asking for your endorsement and your support,” Arthur said.

“But you intend to proceed anyway?” Aldric muttered, his one good eye fixed on the king.

King Arthur met the challenging stare in the disfigured face. “Yes.” Arthur moved his gaze around the table, meeting the eyes of each of his most trusted advisors. Elyan was looking directly at Guinevere and seemed to be content with her endorsement. Neither Gwaine nor Percival seemed particularly concerned although the king thought he saw Percival’s glance flick briefly toward Merlin. Gaius looked proud as well as delighted, and old Geoffrey appeared pleased himself.

Arthur held Ector’s gaze longer than the others. It was only because Arthur knew the senior knight so well that he recognized the glint of approval in his otherwise stern countenance. Inwardly the king breathed a sigh of relief. Ector’s nodded slightly in response to the look of silent gratitude Arthur gave him.

Despite his shocked expression, Leon was the first to publically declare his support. “You know you have our loyalty, Sire.”

“Then if any of you have doubts about the wisdom of this course of action, all I ask is that you keep those doubts to yourself for now. In time we will see an era of peace which will long be remembered.”

~

A fortnight later King Rodor and his son, Meliant, received King Arthur’s party in the throne room of Nemeth’s citadel. It was a mark of respect that although the king and prince were enthroned and the hall was decorated ostentatiously with all the pageantry of Nemeth’s colours, Arthur was being received in the citadel itself rather than on the palace steps. All were conscious that despite its former strength, Nemeth’s forces had been decimated by Odin’s surprise attack and it was solely through Arthur’s generosity that Rodor ruled his kingdom once again.

“King Arthur, we are pleased to receive you and your attendants.” King Rodor stood.

The elderly monarch was healthier than he had been when they rescued him from Odin but Arthur suspected at least some of the tired, careworn lines on the older monarch’s face had been put there during his time as Odin’s prisoner. Arthur had not met Rodor prior to his capture by Morgana and Odin, but he had gotten to know the aging ruler well as Rodor and his daughter, Mithian, accompanied Arthur and his party back to Camelot. The two of them had remained while the truce between Arthur and Odin was finalized. It was only once Odin withdrew his troops from Nemeth and released Meliant that they judged it safe for King Rodor to return to his own kingdom.

The evidence of Meliant’s mistreatment was more obvious that his father’s; Arthur had never seen the prince but he doubted the otherwise handsome, dark-haired young man’s face had borne those scars before. Odin had apparently left no instructions with his occupying forces in Nemeth’s palace to take any particular care of their royal prisoner while Odin himself held Rodor captive in that tomb near Camelot’s border and Morgana escorted the princess to Camelot to lay the trap for Arthur. The blond king felt his blood boil anew at Odin’s complete disregard for the courtesies normally afforded royal hostages.

At his father’s greeting, Prince Meliant likewise stood in front of his own throne on his father’s right. He drew himself up to his full height and appraised Arthur with a shrewd look while Mithian rose gracefully from her smaller throne set back and to the left of the king. All three royals gave a respectful nod to Arthur which he returned with equal courtesy, sending a warmer glance toward Mithian. She smiled in return, but her eyes assessed him closely and as he looked back at Rodor, Arthur saw Mithian turn her appraising look on Merlin.

“I hope our visit will end with a formal agreement between our two kingdoms to stand as allies,” Arthur said.

“I wish the same. I will give you time to inspect your chambers and wash and we can meet before the evening meal. We have much to discuss.”

Their meeting took place in a large, airy chamber with tall, coloured windows that turned the afternoon sunlight green and blue. The four royals were seated with their men-at-arms standing to the side. Each chair was wood stained dark to throw into relief the intricate carvings of Nemeth’s sigil and coat of arms. Banners and tapestries displaying scenes of past battles covered most of the walls.

Arthur reassured Rodor regarding the removal of Odin’s troops from Nemeth. They agreed how many of Camelot’s soldiers would remain in Nemeth to strengthen the kingdom’s reduced numbers and for how long, but so far Arthur had no reason to doubt Odin’s intention to honour the treaty they had struck.

“I am relieved beyond measure to hear Odin has honoured his commitment to withdraw from Nemeth,” Rodor said.

That part of the agreement settled, Arthur braced himself for Rodor’s reaction to Camelot’s abolishment of laws against the use of magic. Rodor’s kingdom had not tolerated sorcerers any more than the Five Kingdoms and Morgana’s use of her power to aid Odin’s recent conquest of Nemeth had done little to endear magic users to the other king.

“Now perhaps we can discuss these terrible rumours that have reached me about Camelot ending its decades of championing the fight against the evils of black magic and sorcery.”

Arthur held Rodor’s gaze steadily even while he was aware of Mithian’s sudden, sharp interest. Arthur did not allow himself to glance Merlin’s way where he stood quietly with the others of Arthur’s entourage. So far only Gwen was aware of what Merlin was.

“Camelot will never tolerate evil but it is true I have repealed all laws banning magic.”

Arthur waited while Rodor regarded him in silence, not betraying how anxious Arthur was to keep Nemeth as an ally. Even with firm truces with both Odin and Annis, Arthur knew he would need all his allies if the Five Kingdoms were to split apart as he feared may happen.

Rodor would be aware of the delicate situation Camelot was in. It was common knowledge that Alined favoured war over peace and Urien had made public his disparaging comments about someone as young as Arthur ruling a kingdom as powerful as Camelot. Either or both of them could use the new acceptance of magic as a reason to become more hostile. Nemeth’s continued support in the face of their differing attitudes to magic would go a long way toward making Urien or Alined appear unreasonable if they tried to sway Olaf or Gwynllyw to openly oppose Arthur on the basis of his change in law.

In Arthur’s favour was the debt Rodor and Nemeth owed him and their need of Camelot’s strength while their own forces were weakened. Both rulers knew Odin still coveted Nemeth and the truce between him and Arthur was the only barrier to another invasion. That or Nemeth’s alliance with another kingdom, potentially one hostile to Camelot, which Arthur hoped to prevent.

When Rodor spoke, his tone was much less reserved than during the formal council they had held up until now. “You’re an honourable man and a good king, Arthur Pendragon. I admire and respect you, as much for your mercy to Odin and the commitment to peace you displayed in sparing his life as for your generosity to me in restoring Nemeth rather than claiming it. But I fear you are making a grave error in relaxing the yoke on sorcerers. You even more than I know what destruction Morgana has wrought and those like her.”

“I do know,” Arthur said with the same frank honesty. “But I also know that others who practice magic serve their kingdoms with as much honour and loyalty as the truest knight.”

~

Merlin tried not to gawk in amazement at Arthur’s praise, even if he was the only one who recognized it. He had successfully concealed the conflicting feelings of hope and dread which had buffeted him at their talk of Arthur’s new edicts. Merlin knew how much depended on Arthur’s ability to maintain peaceful relations with all the kingdoms in order to eventually unite them in an acceptance of magic.

Merlin tamped down his trepidation at Rodor’s words along with his elation at Arthur’s response and went back to watching Meliant. The prince had said little, allowing his father to do most of the talking, but Merlin was certain this was not due to a lack of either intelligence or conviction. He merely afforded his father courtesy due his rank as king, watching and learning all he could until his own time came to rule.

Merlin suddenly wondered what Mithian’s attitude to magic was. He found himself hoping fervently that she, like Arthur, was able to set aside the prejudices she had been raised with.

“Well, we have been here long enough today,” the grey-haired king announced. “I am certain you wish to retire to your apartments. I trust you found your accommodations comfortable?”

In spite of the shortages Merlin knew Nemeth must be experiencing following Odin’s occupation, the chambers Arthur had been given were lavishly appointed and Merlin had been pleased enough with his own quarters. They had agreed Merlin would continue to act as Arthur’s manservant to explain his constant presence at Arthur’s side because, as Arthur pointed out with a smirk, no one was going to believe the clumsy peasant was either a knight or a nobleman.

“Our accommodations are more than satisfactory and you have my gracious thanks,” Arthur said.

The royals acknowledged each other with nods of respect to formally end the meeting and Arthur left the chamber followed by Merlin and the Camelot knights.

“We’ll see you in the morning,” Arthur said before Gwaine could ask for leave.

Without delay the knights left to secure the pleasures of drink and women available in Nemeth’s main city. Merlin began to follow Arthur down the corridor toward their rooms when Gwaine hailed him.

“Merlin, my friend, join us for a drink?”

Knowing an evening in the tavern with Gwaine and Percival would inevitably lead to recovering from a brawl and a hangover, Merlin rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Please keep in mind we’re here to negotiate a formal peace treaty.”

“Of course we will, you know me.” Gwaine gave a wicked grin and tossed his hair back as he took his leave.

“Percival,” Merlin said. “Keep him in line?”

“I’ll do what I can,” the big knight called over his shoulder as he followed Gwaine down the corridor.

Chuckling to himself, Merlin had taken only a few steps down the hall when he heard someone else call his name. He looked around in surprise at the feminine voice and his eyes widened to see Princess Mithian standing at the entrance to a smaller chamber off the corridor.

“Could I speak to you?”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Hiding his curiosity, he immediately obeyed her invitation to enter the chamber.

The carved wood of the chairs was not as intricate as the seats in other room but the walls were also hung conspicuously with banners in Nemeth’s colours. One had been repaired and bare spots on the wall showed where more pennants had hung before being destroyed by the occupying forces so recently ousted. It must be an antechamber for those waiting to be admitted to the Council Chamber or the Great Hall but now the room was empty except for himself and the princess.

He waited patiently for her to say whatever she had called him aside for, intrigued when she closed the chamber door to ensure they were not interrupted or overheard.

Mithian pinned him with a look. “Arthur would never have changed his kingdom’s laws on magic without your approval.”

Merlin had a momentary flash at panic at what she might be leading up to but he forced his expression to remain tranquil. He shook his head in denial. “You overestimate my influence.”

“No, I don’t,” she said. “Not before and not now, but something has changed.” She advanced a few steps, not taking her eyes off him. “He didn’t know before but he does now, is that it?”

Merlin found it harder to maintain his outward calm. He put on his most innocent expression. “Know what?”

“That you’re a sorcerer,” Mithian replied calmly.

As had happened the last time she cornered him, when she called him out about his objection to Arthur marrying her even though Merlin thought he had been so discreet, his mind went blank. All his quick-witted lies deserted him. He shook his head weakly but his shock and guilt must have been obvious because Mithian smiled triumphantly.

“I should have realized sooner,” she said. “Every step we took fleeing that tomb, every second, I expected Morgana to grab me and yank me back.” Mithian absently rubbed her right forearm. “But she never followed after us. When you took that horrid bracelet off you said it could be removed now that Morgana was gone but that wasn’t the truth, was it? I tried so hard so many times to take it off. When Morgana noticed she laughed and said it would take magic to remove it, yet you could do it.” Mithian’s widened. “That tremor! It wasn’t a lucky coincidence at all, it happened exactly when you got there to rescue us.”

Merlin was afraid his expression was giving him away as he grew more astonished with every revelation about how much she had guessed. He must have looked frightened as well because Mithian took pity on him.

She held his eyes steadily. “A hatred of magic was the only thing my father and Uther had in common. Having seen the destruction Odin wrought here with Morgana’s assistance, I completely understand my father’s hatred of her. But I spent many days – more than a week – in close company with Morgana. I was out of her sight for barely more than a minute in all that time and I believe I know her better than anyone outside of Camelot does. And I know you are nothing like her.”

Merlin blinked at that last heartfelt declaration, hoping it meant the princess had no intention of allowing the truth about him to disrupt the relationship Arthur was working hard to establish with Nemeth.

“What is best for our kingdom is to maintain a strong alliance with Camelot, and I will do whatever I can to encourage that. I will certainly not jeopardize it.”

Mithian smiled at him then and Merlin’s heart ceased its rapid pounding in his chest even as it quickened again at the open friendliness in her expression. “Umm … thank you,” he mumbled.

“How did you know?” She tilted her head to the side as she looked at him quizzically. “What made you suspicious of Hilda? Was it your magic?”

He regarded her solemnly for a moment. “No,” he said. “Until I got your message at the stream I had no idea who we were dealing with. I just knew there was something off between you two. You had fear in your eyes and anything that scared someone as intelligent and brave as you had to be bad. You weren’t behaving at all like the confident, good-humoured woman I remembered.”

Mithian appeared to be as dumbfounded as he had been a few minutes ago and he wondered if his honesty had struck her as too forward.

“Well,” she said eventually. “I think I should be flattered by that appraisal considering I thought you were plotting to be rid of me the entirety of my initial visit to Camelot.”

He could not hold back a lopsided grin. “Well I was, but not because I wasn’t aware of your wit or your beauty or the fact you would have made an admirable queen. I just knew Arthur and Gwen belonged with each other.”

“And you were right,” Mithian said. “I’ve seen them together.”

Merlin berated himself for bringing up what might be a hurtful memory for the princess of Arthur’s rejection of her. The sorcerer regarded her worriedly but there was no trace of resentment in her expression.

“I understand completely,” she said tranquilly. “I know why it worked out the way it did, even though Arthur would have been wiser to marry me and take Gwen as his mistress.”

She smiled at the shocked expression Merlin knew he wore.

“You probably think nobles are mad for treating marriage like a political tool but frankly it is not about love or happiness for us, it is about which children inherit the property or the title.”

Embarrassed at how easily she deduced what he was thinking, Merlin tried not to appear quite so naïve but his curiosity got the better of him. “Would you have been content to marry Arthur and watch … I mean, to know they ….”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Mithian said with a small smile. “But I would have accepted it, and more so if he allowed me the same freedom after our children were born.”

By the amused look she gave him, Merlin was afraid he was blushing again.

“Well, I won’t offend your tender sensibilities further with our noble ways. Just know how grateful I am that you forgive me for leading Arthur into a trap and nearly getting you killed.” Mithain’s eyes rested on his forehead where he had sported a nasty bruise the last time they had been face to face.

“I told you there is no reason for you to carry around undue guilt,” Merlin said emphatically. “Your father’s life was at stake as well as your own. I know you tried repeatedly to escape Morgana and warn us.”

“I did,” she said. “I almost made it to your quarters once before Morgana caught me. If only I had known for certain where the physician’s chamber was I might have been able to warn you before we left Camelot.”

Merlin noticed her rubbing her arm again and wondered if she was aware she did it.

“But still,” she continued, “even though I knew you were the one that could help, I should never have put you in such danger there at the stream knowing how cunning Morgana is.”

The remorse in her voice clutched at his heart. “Please believe me when I say your brave attempt to warn us did not make Morgana want to kill me any more than she did before.”

“She knows then?” the princess asked curiously.

“Not that I have magic, no, she just knows how often I get in her way. A thorn in her side she called me,” Merlin said with a modest grin.

“I’m glad we have a kind and loyal sorcerer on our side to fight her evil,” Mithian said with an answering smile.

Merlin sobered. “You might not think that if you knew I’m to blame for Morgana being the way she is.”

A look of incredulity came over Mithian.

He dropped his gaze to the floor. “I abandoned her when she needed help and tried to kill her when she reached out to someone else in her fear.”

Mithian regarded his downcast expression solemnly. “I don’t believe you are responsible for the choices she makes.”

His eyes lifted to meet hers.

“You may have played a part but she has to take the blame for her own actions.”

Merlin was as gratified by the princess’ declaration of faith in him as he was unnerved by the way she was looking at him. It was like she saw right through the falsehoods he told himself as easily as the lies he hid his true identity behind.

“Tell me,” Mithian said. “Tell me why you feel responsible for her deeds.”

Her voice had a note of command but Merlin thought she sincerely wanted to know, to form her own judgement. “I would be ashamed to tell you.”

“I led King Arthur to an assassination attempt, certain he would die, you and his men with him, using his honest desire to aid me to lead him into the trap when he had done me no wrong. I am not in any position to sit in judgement on others’ actions.”

“You made the best choices you could to save your father.”

“And I know you had good reasons for whatever wrongs you think you have done. So tell me.”

It was not something he had discussed with anyone except Gaius, and she seemed ready to listen, prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt. Before he was aware of any conscious decision he found himself speaking aloud. “When Morgana first suspected she had magic, I knew exactly how frightened and alone she felt, but I didn’t help her by admitting what I was.”

“Why?”

Merlin sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Gaius told me not to and I was afraid of being discovered. She was Uther’s ward and he wouldn’t have hesitated to execute me for my magic or even for hers if he decided I had corrupted her. Then when she turned against him it would have made me a target and I had already been warned not to trust her.” He closed his eyes briefly. “I don’t know exactly why I didn’t tell her but I should have taken the risk. Then when Morgause used her as the vessel for a spell that left Camelot vulnerable to the Knights of Medhir I was told the only way to break the enchantment was to kill Morgana.”

Mithian drew in an audible breath. “You had to choose between taking a life and standing by to watch other lives taken?”

Merlin nodded.

“But … royalty are raised to make decisions that affect people’s lives and even with training and advisers it’s so hard to know what is right.” Mithian stared at him in astonishment. “You were forced to make a decision like that? On your own?”

“I couldn’t tell Arthur without revealing, well, certain truths and Gaius was affected by the spell – he was sound asleep – and there wasn’t much time. I’m making excuses, aren’t I?”

“No, you are merely giving reasons. I have no idea what I would do in that situation and I won’t pretend to know what the right decision was. You did the best you could in the circumstances and you live with the consequences. But,” Mithian’s brow wrinkled, “Morgana is not dead nor did Camelot fall, so what happened?”

“I bargained Morgana’s life with Morgause and she called off the attack to save her sister.”

“Well I can see why Morgana would hate you,” Mithian said slowly as though she was trying to imagine Merlin being forced to make life-and-death decisions on his own, barely more than a boy himself. “But it isn’t you Morgana’s campaign of vengeance is aimed at.”

“Once she discovered Uther was her father, her fear of him turned into hate.”

“I suppose that was your fault, too?” Mithian asked laughingly, trying to lighten the somber mood.

He rubbed the back of his head. “It sort of was.”

Mithian regarded him in stunned amazement. Then she narrowed her gaze thoughtfully. “When Arthur chose to spare Odin’s life and forge a truce instead, was it really his decision?”

“Yes,” Merlin said. “I only suggested it, he chose to offer peace.”

“So that’s how it was,” she murmured.

Merlin suspected she had read into his answer more about his supposed influence than he had intended. She was still regarding him thoughtfully.

“You must have many remarkable stories to tell.”

He only shrugged in response, not sure what to say.

“How much does Arthur know about what’s been going on?”

Merlin gave the princess an admiring smile. “He’s not nearly so quick to figure things out as you are.”

She laughed and he smiled at the sound. They regarded each other in silence for a moment before Merlin realized he should not be thinking about how prettily her brown eyes sparkled when she laughed.

He cleared his throat. “I should go, I told Arthur I would bring him food.”

“Wait.” Mithian held out a hand to stop him from leaving. “Would you join me for supper? I ‘ve arranged for food and wine to be brought to me in my chambers. There would be more than enough for two and you can tell me stories about saving the kingdom.”

She had not given a direct order, in fact Merlin thought her tone lacked her usual self-assurance. He hesitated, unsure of the wisdom of being alone with her before his sense of reason caught up with the drift of his thoughts and he called himself ten kinds of a fool for thinking she might fancy him. She was Princess Mithian, there could not possibly be any harm in spending time in her company, and she would be a valuable ally in convincing her father to forge formal ties with Camelot.

As soon as Merlin relaxed and gave her a grateful smile she visibly relaxed herself.

“I better get Arthur his food first – you don’t want to have him anywhere near when he’s hungry.”

“Fine. My chamber is in the west wing, directly above the apartments Arthur is using.”

“Then I look forward to more of your delightful company, Your Highness,” Merlin said with a respectful bow.

~

“I can’t believe you’d never ridden a horse before,” Mithian said as she used a hunk of bread to sop up the last of the gravy on her plate.

“You underestimate how small Ealdor is. The one horse was not for transporting people, at least not village boys.” Merlin pushed aside his own now-empty plate.

“And you’d never even seen a sword? You seem to handle one all right now.”

Merlin grinned. “Arthur would be appalled to hear you say that.”

“He would have trained with weapons since boyhood,” Mithian said. “It is hardly a skill one acquires overnight.”

“Will and I played at sword-fighting which he taught me from the little he learned from his father, but we didn’t have real swords. They’re heavier than they look. Arthur has seen to it I’ve had plenty of practice since then, mostly as the target.”

“Yet you could read and write.”

“My mother taught me. You should have seen the look on Arthur’s face when he made that discovery – that I would have spent the few precious moments I had away from my labours to learn letters instead of weapons.” Merlin chuckled.

The princess smiled in response. “How did your mother learn?”

Merlin was momentarily taken aback. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I never asked her, just took it for granted.”

Mithian leaned forward, her elbow almost touching his where it rested on the corner of the small table. “You’ve told me all about yourself but you haven’t asked me anything about myself.”

“I already know all about you,” Merlin said.

Mithian raised her brows. “Like what?”

“Your mother died when you were seven years old, you had a series of nannies you terrorized, refusing their company to spend most of your time with your brother and his tutors, your favourite horse was a black stallion with a white star on his forehead, your favourite hunting dogs are siblings named Fang and Fluffy, and you always regretted having dark hair instead of blonde like your mother.” He looked up to see Mithian staring at him in open-mouthed astonishment. Perhaps he had revealed too much. What did she think about how he had hung on her every word?

“How would you know those things?” Mithian asked.

“You told Arthur.”

“But that was over three years ago, how would you remember all that? I’m sure Arthur himself couldn’t recall a word I said then.”

Embarrassed, Merlin stared at his hands. “Don’t be too sure, it’s not like he was completely uninterested. He was quite smitten with you.” In response to her doubtful look Merlin hastened to add, “He was speechless the first time he laid eyes on you. You lifted that long veil and even after the rest of us were done ogling you, he still had a gobsmacked expression on his face at the sight of your beauty.”

“All of you were ogling me? Even you, Merlin?” Mithian gave him a teasing smile. “That’s hard to imagine with all the sour, disapproving looks you sent my way.”

He could feel the red creep up his neck. “I never disapproved of you. I just didn’t want you to marry Arthur.” As soon as he said it he realized his words could be taken the wrong way. He certainly did not intend to give the impression that he considered she would marry … someone else. “I mean … not that I wanted you to marry …” He stopped mid-sentence when Mithian’s brows went up and tried again. “I just meant that I knew Arthur should marry Gwen.” Merlin glanced at her, wondering how she felt about that now, but all he could see was amusement at his discomfiture. “Not that I could blame Arthur for appreciating how beautiful and intelligent and charming you were, perfect for him actually, though he didn’t deserve you any more than he deserves Gwen, even if he is handsome and strong and powerful and noble.” Merlin decided he was babbling and stopped talking to stare at his hands again.

“So are you.”

Merlin’s startled gaze jumped up to meet the sincere look on her face. He gave a lopsided grin. “I am beautiful and intelligent and charming?”

“Yes, and handsome and strong and powerful and noble.”

She sounded as though she meant it, that it was more than her natural gracious kindness.

He gave a nervous laugh. “I am not handsome,” he argued, jokingly implying he possessed the other qualities.

Mithian had an odd look on her face and he could not look away.

“Not in the same way as Arthur,” she said slowly. “But you do have adorable ears and the most beautiful blue eyes.”

Mithian leaned closer and laid her hand on his where it rested on the table. When he looked down she snatched her hand back as though she had just realized what she was doing.

“Thank you for keeping me company,” the princess said, sitting upright in her chair and wiping all expression from her face. “But you would probably like to return to your quarters. I won’t detain you any longer.”

His eyes searched her face for any indication that he had given offence but her expression remained carefully guarded. “Good night, Mithian,” he said finally as he rose to leave.

“Good night,” she called softly after him.

~

The next morning Mithian only half listened as her father and brother debated their imminent decision with regard to the written treaty Arthur had asked them to sign. Her eyes wandered around the otherwise empty Council chamber along with her drifting thoughts. Normally she would be as vocal as her brother in such a serious matter, instead she allowed her mind to be clouded by images of dark hair and smiling blue eyes.

Last evening as she and Merlin had talked, a sudden unbidden memory of the feel of his shoulders under her hands had intruded on her thoughts and she had felt an irresistible urge to touch him. She could not help thinking about him helping her down from her horse and asking about the burn marks on her wrist with such a look of concern that she wanted to blurt out the truth. Except a disguised Morgana had been standing right next to them, her threatening stare boring holes into Mithian. She also remembered their flight through the woods, Odin’s men coming at them from all directions, and her clinging to Merlin in fear. And she remembered putting her hand on his last evening.

She gave herself a mental shake. It would not do to dwell on such ideas when nothing could come of it. When she forced her concentration back to the present discussion, she found herself the subject of that conversation.

“For all your praise of him, Father, Arthur did insult us when he rejected Mithian’s hand the way he did.”

“I admit, that did anger me,” Rodor said. “But I was also impressed with his gracious offer of Gedref as compensation. In the end Nemeth had all it could have asked for. I was more upset to see Mithian angry than I was offended.”

“I wasn’t angry,” Mithian said.

Her brother gave her an arch look. “That’s not what it seemed at the time.”

“Well, perhaps I felt insulted then.” On her arrival in Camelot she had been pleasantly surprised to find Arthur was not as arrogant and cold-hearted as some had described him despite being every bit as handsome as they had said. She made every effort to make a success of their arrangement. She thought it was, and then without warning or explanation she was sent packing. There had been only one possible explanation she could deduce, although she had not personally experienced or even witnessed an emotion so strong. “I think in the end it turned out as it should.”

“I’m not certain it has,” the prince said.

Rodor and Mithian both looked questioningly at Meliant.

“No suitor was ever good enough until King Arthur’s offer and now more years have passed and Mithian is still unwed. With Arthur’s marriage there are no other suitable matches; Odin’s only son is dead and Godwyn never had the sense to marry again after Elena’s mother died.”

“It’s unfortunate he was not thinking of his duty to provide potential mates for other royalty,” Mithian said.

Meliant ignored his sister. “Most of the other sons of royalty are married or mere children themselves. Mercia is too far to the north and the east to be a strategic ally for Nemeth.”

Rodor looked guiltily at Mithian. “Perhaps I was too hasty in rejecting some of the offers, but I will not permit an intelligent, loyal, beautiful daughter to make a match not worthy of her.”

“Urien’s son is unwed though he is of age,” Meliant said. “In fact, King Urien himself is recently widowed.”

Mithian stared at her brother in shock, wondering if he was truly suggesting an alliance with Rheged.

“Urien is no friend of Arthur’s,” Rodor said, holding his son’s gaze.

“No, and I’m fairly certain he will oppose this new tolerance for sorcery.”

“An alliance with Urien will mean the end of peaceful relations with Arthur,” the king said.

“Rheged is strong enough to face Camelot, we would be adequately protected from both Arthur and Odin if we allied with Urien. We don’t want to be on the wrong side if war breaks out.”

“Do you believe Arthur is on the wrong side?” Mithian demanded. “We owe him much, remember? When Arthur struck his truce with Odin the two of them could have carved up Nemeth between them to cement that truce. Instead, Arthur returned Father to the throne despite my betrayal. That is a powerful endorsement for his proposed alliance.”

Meliant met his sister’s glare with a defiant look, though he did not contradict her.

At that moment a guard announced that King Arthur and his party were ready to join them. Rodor glanced between his two children who were currently staring each other down. He waited until both had turned their attention back to him and erased any outward trace of hostility before the grey-haired king indicated the guard should escort Camelot’s entourage into the room.

~

Merlin tried to avoid gazing at Princess Mithian, but he could not rid himself of a heightened consciousness that she was in the room.

“Arthur,” Rodor was saying, “You are a good king despite your youth and an honourable man. I am indebted to you for my very kingdom, and possibly my life and my daughter’s life as well. But I fear your attempt to pacify the witch Morgana by repealing the ban on sorcery is misguided. She will not be stopped by such a gesture.”

“I fear you are correct, Rodor, and I am grateful for the benefit of your wisdom.”

Merlin was impressed at how much of a statesman Arthur had become.

“I do not expect Morgana to cease her quest for Camelot’s throne at any price; she is obsessed with obtaining the Crown she believes is owed to her,” Arthur continued. “My repeal of those odious laws was an apology to all my loyal and otherwise law-abiding subjects. They need not live in fear in Camelot and they will not be persecuted for possessing a special gift.”

Rodor shook his head. “Magic is a curse, not a gift, that eats away at a person’s soul until there is nought but evil; I have seen it time and again and Morgana is the living proof. Power corrupts.”

“You cannot judge all those who practice magic by Morgana’s deeds any more than you can judge all kings by Odin’s actions, Father,” Mithian said.

Merlin saw Arthur look at her with the same grateful surprise Merlin felt rush through him.

Rodor appeared taken aback by his daughter’s assertion, at a loss to contradict her point. “Perhaps not, but I have yet to meet an honourable and loyal subject who practices magic.”

“How would you know?” said Mithian. “Sorcery has been banned in Nemeth since before my birth, anyone with intelligence would keep their talents well hidden. In fact, our laws are preventing any such person from using magic to serve the kingdom.”

“If there were a sorcerer with a desire to serve anyone other than himself. Or herself,” Rodor said.

“I’m sure there is at least one.” Mithian’s eyes flicked in Merlin’s direction but he thought no one else noticed. A warm feeling spread through him.

“I wish only to allow any such citizens of Camelot to live peaceably within our borders. I also want to ensure that otherwise loyal citizens are not driven to aid Morgana out of fear for themselves,” Arthur said.

“Any who ally with Morgana do so at risk of their lives,” Rodor said bitterly. “You did Odin a favour by severing his ties to her.”

“Perhaps. Be assured, Rodor, that Camelot’s continued alliance with Nemeth is not contingent on you following our laws. I ask only that we maintain our mutual peace and support despite our difference on this matter.”

Merlin was aware of the delicate balance Arthur was attempting to maintain. Nemeth was weakened and bordered on two sides by Camelot’s allies, Queen Annis and King Odin, on the third side by the seas of Meredor, and on the fourth by Camelot itself. Camelot was under constant threat of another assault by Morgana and two of the Five Kingdoms had expressed open hostility at Arthur’s new decrees, and it would be to Arthur’s advantage to have his entire southwestern border secure. Plus Nemeth’s loyalty was an incentive for Odin to hold to the truce with Camelot.

So far it appeared to Merlin that Rodor would sign the formal agreement with Arthur despite having failed to cement that alliance through Mithian’s marriage, and it seemed Meliant was not as committed to the treaty as his father was.

Arthur did not say anything more, having stated his case as eloquently as he could. It was up to Rodor now to decide Nemeth’s future. Merlin watched closely as the elderly king exchanged meaningful looks with both the prince and princess. Finally he turned back to Arthur.

“Well, my boy, I am certain we can agree to set our personal differences on this issue aside in order to formalize that treaty you have proposed.”

Merlin let out a breath he had not known he was holding.

Arthur’s expression did not betray either relief or gratitude, only calm acceptance. “As I said before, Camelot is nothing without the strength and loyalty of her allies.”

“Then if you would make those minor changes we agreed earlier, we will finalize our agreement tomorrow by our signatures.”

“Until tomorrow, and thank you for your gracious hospitality.”

Both kings stood and the younger royals followed suit, all of them exchanging properly deferential nods.

Merlin followed Arthur back to his quarters, forced to admire how the king gave the impression to any who saw him that he had not been concerned with whether or not Nemeth accepted his proposal. He carried himself as if he had fully expected the outcome of the negotiation to be successful.

The moment they were behind closed doors, however, Arthur slumped into a chair. He gave Merlin a sidelong glance.

“I’m glad that’s over.”

“You’re doing well, Arthur. I am impressed you’ve learned to use words almost as well as a sword.”

The king sighed. “This is only a practice run. It will be much harder to convince the rulers of the Five Kingdoms that I am right in taking us down this road.”

“But you will do it, Arthur. It’s your destiny.”

As usual when Merlin spoke about destiny or prophecies Arthur gave him a look of doubtful awe. “Right, Merlin. Gibberish as usual.”

Merlin merely gave him an indulgent and knowing smile, certain Arthur would take his words to heart.

“Stop grinning at me and make yourself useful. There must be something you have to do.”

“There is, Sire. Thank you, Sire. I will leave you to your rest.” Merlin accompanied the excessive formality with a respectful bow which made Arthur roll his eyes.

Merlin made a hasty exit before the king could locate something in the unfamiliar room to throw at him, pleased at having distracted Arthur from his concerns.

Once in the corridor, Merlin directed his footsteps toward the nearest staircase which would take him up to the next floor. As he neared the princess’s door, his pace slowed. As much as he wanted to thank her for her assistance in convincing Rodor to sign the treaty, he was oddly nervous and conscious as he almost never was at the impropriety of approaching her in her quarters when she had not expressly invited him.

He raised his hand to knock and then paused, uncertain if he was really here to thank her as he had told himself or if he was making an excuse to see her.

Before he could decide if he was going to rap on the door, it opened from the inside and a young woman nearly walked into him as she exited the chamber. Her exclamation of surprise attracted Mithian’s attention to Merlin standing in the hall.

The young blonde woman, obviously a maidservant, looked back at the princess who indicated the maid should continue with her task. Merlin stepped aside as she sidled past him with a curious backward glance.

“Merlin, please come in,” Mithian said.

Left with no other choice, Merlin stepped into the chamber as the maid closed the door behind him. Mithian waited patiently for him to speak but now he was here he felt tongue-tied.

Finally he found his voice. “Thank you.” She appeared to be puzzled so he hastened to add, “For your words today, what you said to your father.”

Her confusion cleared. “I merely spoke the truth. Father made the right decision. This is what’s best for Nemeth, to have Arthur and you on our side.”

She came closer and Merlin forced himself to keep his eyes fixed on hers when they displayed an inappropriate determination to focus on her lips.

“I admire Arthur the more for having the good sense to respect your opinion. Besides which it is you we all owe our lives to; without you I shudder to think what Odin’s plan for my family was. I should be thanking you.”

Merlin stood transfixed as she lifted one hand and stroked his hair back behind his ear, then before he knew what was happening she leaned closer and kissed him. After an instant of shocked amazement, all thought left his mind and he was kissing her back as though a wish he had not dared to make was coming true.

Abruptly the kiss ended. He opened his eyes to see her staring at him with the same utterly stunned expression he knew must be on his face.

“I’m sorry.”

_She was sorry?_

“I don’t know what I was thinking.” She stepped back hurriedly, remorse staining her cheeks.

He could feel a deep flush spread over his face. “I know you would never … could never fancy me.”

“Merlin, don’t misunderstand me. There are any number of reasons why I like you, I just know that nothing can come of it.”

 _Had she just said she liked him?_ “But if …”

“Arthur and Guinevere were exceedingly fortunate. By all rights they never should have stood a chance of being wed; if he wasn’t sovereign, if his father hadn’t died so early, nothing could have come of their relationship.” Merlin opened his mouth to protest but Mithian held up a hand. “If Uther were still king, would Arthur have been able to openly court Guinevere?”

As much as Merlin wanted to argue, he was forced to answer honestly. “No.”

“I will never be in the position Arthur is in to flout tradition or ignore the politics of my own marriage. I’m sorry I took advantage. I never planned it, I promise. I wasn’t thinking.”

Well, he could relate to that. “Yesterday I wouldn’t have dared to hope that you might want to be with me. But if you do, there must be a way.”

She regarded him solemnly. “Are you planning to stay in Nemeth?”

The question surprised him, and he realized he had never considered the possibility of not returning to Camelot. “No.”

“Even if you stayed here, my father is not about to condone my courting a peasant with no land or estate, regardless of how highly esteemed he is. And it is only a matter of time until everyone knows what you are – it will come out sooner or later – which will not endear you to my family, either.”

The unfairness of that surged through Merlin but before he could voice any protest Mithian continued.

“Unless you are proposing to run away with me? Elope to some other kingdom?”

It hit him then how close he and Arthur were to fulfilling the destiny that had been hanging over him since he first arrived in Camelot all those years ago. He could not walk away from that, and the look in Mithian’s eyes told him she was aware of his commitment. “There was a time when I might have,” he said softly.

“She must have been special,” Mithian said, quickly masking what may have been a flash of jealousy. “But things are different now, aren’t they?”

Silently Merlin nodded.

“I think Uther’s unexpected death and Arthur’s sudden acceptance of magic have sent shock waves through the land and we will experience a time of unrest, even war, before there is peace again. Nemeth is vulnerable right now. If any action of mine causes ill will between my father and Camelot then I fear Nemeth will be crushed between her enemies. I said I would give up my own kingdom to be so loved but I won’t abandon it for my own desires. Just like you would not abandon your destiny.”

Merlin regarded her solemnly. “You are convinced there’s no hope for us ever to be together.”

“I wish it were otherwise, really I do.”

For the first time Merlin truly appreciated what Gwen had experienced, what she had felt knowing Arthur returned her love yet aware how little chance there was for them to ever express it. Except there had always been a possibility for them, a chance that things would change once Arthur was king, and Gwen was free to wait. Merlin wondered how long it would be until Mithian’s father arranged her marriage and what Merlin would do if the arrangement involved some appropriate noble in Camelot. He tried to mirror the resigned acceptance he saw in Mithian’s face, but inside he was seething at the injustice of it all.

Despondently, he stared into the beautiful brown eyes fixed on his face as if she was memorizing it, then he executed a respectful bow. “Good evening, Your Highness.”

 She politely acknowledged the salutation before he turned and left.

~

Both kings were bedecked in their royal finery, as were Prince Meliant and Princess Mithian, for the official signing ceremony. Camelot’s knights sported their red capes and stood straight and proud as did Nemeth’s green-cloaked soldiers.

Merlin caught Gwaine’s eye and wondered how the man managed to look well rested and sober when Merlin knew without a doubt the dark-haired knight had arrived back at the citadel at daybreak. Gwaine gave him a wink. Shaking his head, Merlin turned his attention back to the royals, carefully avoiding looking at Mithian.

He had seen her when she arrived with her father, dressed as splendidly as she had to impress them in Camelot, and she looked beautiful. Although, he thought, she had also looked beautiful in the traveling clothes she had worn on their journey to the tomb to “rescue” her father. And yesterday when they were speaking in her chambers. And when she kissed him. And he was not going to think about that.

There was a burst of enthusiastic applause as the kings put down their quills, but Rodor regarded Arthur sombrely. “I fear we are heading for dark times.”

Merlin was certain that the elder monarch was not referring to the winter season which had begun a short time ago with Samhain.

“Then we will take strength from each other,” Arthur said.

“That we will, my boy, that we will.”

~

The Camelot entourage was mounted and ready to depart. Astride his own horse, Merlin saw how anxious Arthur obviously was to get back home. To Guinevere. Unbidden, Merlin’s gaze fixed on Mithian, standing on the citadel steps behind her father, watching him. When his eyes met hers she gave him a sad smile and raised her hand slightly. He returned the farewell gesture but he could not bring himself to smile.

The royals exchanged their regal nods and then Arthur wheeled his horse to lead his party to the city gate. Merlin followed.


	6. Spring, Fourth Year of Arthur’s Reign

Weeks of correspondence and preparation to arrange a meeting of the rulers of the Five Kingdoms had taken their toll and Gwen was immensely relieved to simply sit in the guest chambers with the first royal visitors. She listened with rapt attention to the white-haired, white-bearded monarch as he finished his tale.

“Is that truly how you met? And you eloped?” Gwen asked, enthralled with his story of romance and abduction. Given Gwynllyw’s imposing build and the ominous scar visible beneath his beard, Gwen believed he had been every bit as fierce as he claimed.

“No.” Gwladys gave her husband a stern look as she answered the younger queen, the elderly woman’s hands moving deftly at her needlework. “Don’t believe half of what he tells you. And Arthur could not possibly have assisted with any abduction, he was not even born yet.”

King Gwynllyw gave his queen a sour look.

“As a matter of fact my parents were quite willing for us to marry, not that that says much for their judgement,” Queen Gwladys said.

Rather than being insulted, the king gave his wife a good-humoured wink. “They might have approved of the match, but truth be told it was you who proposed it. What does that say about your judgement?”

His wife gave a sniff and bent her head. She pretended to focus on the needlework in her lap but Gwen saw a twinkle in her eyes under the wisps of thinning white hair that had escaped her crown of braids.

Although Gwynllyw had been in Camelot previously, it was the first time Gwen had met Daobeth’s queen. Her company was a joy and Gwynllyw’s stories contained a great deal of history despite the embellishments he inevitably added.

Both of Daobeth’s monarchs accepted Gwen without a trace of condescension. Gwen had been nervous contemplating having to host four sets of royals, none of whom she had dealt with since her own coronation. Her beautiful gowns which had seemed so rich and fine only three years ago suddenly seemed insufficient to greet people who had been ruling kingdoms before her birth. Yet Gwladys’s gowns were even simpler than Gwen’s and the former maidservant’s trained eye could see where worn patches had been expertly fixed and alterations had been made to update old-fashioned styles.

When the message came that King Arthur had requested she join him to receive their next guests, Gwen felt her relaxed, happy mood disintegrate. She doubted any of the other rulers would be as accepting of her as these two had been.

Her misgivings must have been apparent because when she took her leave of Daobeth’s royalty she found Gwladys regarding her keenly.

“Remember,” the white-haired queen said quietly, “This is _your_ kingdom. Good luck, dear.”

“Don’t let any of those pompous windbags give you any less than the respect you deserve, my girl,” the king added, his look stern under the bushy white beard.

“Thank you both,” Gwen responded with a sincere smile, her spirits already lifting at their encouragement as she stood to leave. Gwynllyw gave her a wink and Gwladys returned the smile before bending to her needlework.

Arthur was waiting for Gwen in the corridor outside the Great Hall. As she took his arm for him to escort her to the citadel steps, she admired how calm and regal he looked even though he was worried about the outcome of these talks. Buoyed by the encouragement she had received from the elderly royalty, Gwen met her husband’s glance with a confident smile and squeezed his arm. He gave her a tiny smile before fixing his gaze straight ahead, his features settling into a welcoming but aloof expression.

Camelot’s king and queen took their place in the centre of the receiving party of knights in polished chain mail and red capes. Banners with the gold dragon on a red background decorated the courtyard, waving in the slight breeze and casting long, dancing shadows on the palace steps.

“Who has arrived?” Gwen whispered.

Arthur gave her a sidelong glance. “Both King Urien and King Alined are arriving together.”

Gwen’s eyebrows raised. “But they would be coming from opposite directions. How is it the two of them would have met on the road?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur replied under his breath, his eyes fixed on the two parties of knights riding into the citadel courtyard ahead of their monarchs. “But it seems odd. Even if one of them had been forced to detour, it’s quite a coincidence such an event would have happened at the precise time of the other’s arrival.”

Alined had a pinched face which was not flattered by his sparse greying-black hair, his modest height made shorter next to Urien’s bulk. Urien was tall and thickly built with a wealth of straw-coloured hair and a beard that covered half of his face and entirely hid his thick neck.

Once the king of Gwynedd and the king of Rheged had been properly greeted, Arthur offered his formal condolences to Urien on the recent loss of his queen and then turned an inquiring glance on Alined. “I am distressed that the lovely Queen Elyenora has not chosen to accept our hospitality as well.”

“She sends her most ardent regrets,” Gwynedd’s king responded in his oily voice.

Arthur took Guinevere’s hand to lead the visitors into the citadel.

Once her back was turned to them, Gwen gave a small sigh. The two kings had more or less ignored her, although Urien’s gaze had lingered on her décolletage longer than was usually considered appropriate. Gwen was relieved that the lateness of the hour meant that the new arrivals would spend the evening washing off the dust of the roads and taking food in their quarters therefore sparing Camelot’s queen from entertaining them.

Perhaps, Gwen thought, she could convince Gwynllyw and Gwladys to join her and Arthur for supper and she could hear more of the elderly man’s stories. Then she could enjoy one more pleasant evening before the full burden of hosting so many royals consumed every waking moment.

~

King Olaf and Queen Ysmay arrived the next morning. After the pageantry of the formal greeting was complete and Dyfed’s rulers had been escorted to their own quarters, Arthur prepared himself for the talks to begin in earnest. He took special care with his appearance as he dressed that afternoon.

The Five Kingdoms had co-existed more or less peaceably side-by-side since the time of Arthur’s distant ancestor. His father had successfully brokered unprecedented peace talks among the monarchs only a few years previously and now Arthur had jeopardized that peace by overturning his kingdom’s laws against magic in violation of the treaty they had signed. He had to convince these rulers, all of whom had worn their crowns longer than Arthur himself, they should accept his decision and even follow his lead.

At times like these Merlin normally said something uncharacteristically wise and boosted the king’s confidence, but today the bumbling servant/sorcerer-in-disguise was more nervous than Arthur himself. As if to prove the point Merlin cinched the king’s belt too tightly and Arthur winced.

“Sorry,” Merlin said hastily, fumbling with the clasp.

“Let me do that, you can bring me my dress sword.” Arthur felt a momentary relief at having successfully distracted his friend whose obvious anxiety was increasing Arthur’s own apprehension. Then Merlin yelped with pain when he cut his hand on the dress sword.

Arthur felt a pang at how deep his friend’s longing to make the kingdoms safe again for himself and those like him must have been all this time while Arthur had not even noticed. He tried to imagine how it felt to be constantly under threat of death for being who you were, to have to hide a part of yourself from everyone, even your closest friends. To be a criminal for simply existing.

Guinevere finished her own preparations and came forward to take the sword from Merlin. With a sympathetic look at the dark-haired young man she brought the final piece of Arthur’s formal costume to him.

Arthur sheathed the decorative weapon and then held out an arm to Merlin. “We will make this happen,”

Merlin’s eyes lifted to meet Arthur’s gaze as he grasped the king’s forearm. He stood a little straighter and gave Arthur a nod.

The king released his grip and turned to offer his arm to Guinevere. “Let’s go.”

~

Arthur allowed the other kings to debate among themselves after he said his piece. With difficulty he held his tongue at Urien’s continual insinuations Arthur was weak and lacked sufficient experience to hold the position of monarch. The deep voice of the barrel-chested king grated on Arthur’s nerves and he was glad when King Olaf spoke up.

“Lord Bayard of Mercia and Lord Godwyn of Gawant have both indicated their support of Arthur,” Olaf said. His thickly-muscled form was almost as tall as Urien but his nearly-bald head and hairless face made him less formidable.

Urien snorted. “Mercia and Gawant have been puppets of Camelot for years. Their opinion is of no consequence.”

None of the other rulers seated around the council table saw fit to debate that assertion.

“We are here to decide where the Five Kingdoms stand on Camelot’s unilateral adoption of this new policy with regard to sorcery.” Urien laid one large hand on the table and leaned his bulk forward imposingly.

“Arthur has made a considered decision in the best interests of his kingdom and all of ours,” Gwynllyw said. “Morgana grows stronger as we drive those with magic from our borders.”

Urien turned a contemptuous look on the old king, compressing his thin lips until they disappeared under the bushy blonde beard. “Morgana alone is hardly a threat. She has no soldiers, no funds. No one here is likely to provide her with an army.” He met the eyes of each of them in turn.

“You might feel differently if she used her power against you and your kingdom,” Gwynllyw said.

“Spoken by the ruler who cannot even rid us of the city of Helva when it sits on your own shore,” Urien sneered.

“The inhabitants do us no harm,” the white-bearded monarch responded stiffly, his scar more prominent as his face reddened.

Urien looked meaningfully at the other monarchs. “Yes, we know where your sympathies lie. You never enforced the edicts we agreed on twenty-five years ago, although you have our compassionate understanding that you have little in the way of an army to do so.”

Gwynllyw was about to give an angry retort when Gwladys spoke. “There is no sense sending soldiers to kill people who have committed no crime when their city is not even within our border.”

“They practice magic, that is a crime,” Urien growled.

“Only within those kingdoms which say it is,” Gwladys said firmly.

“Which brings us back to the matter at hand.” Alined’s oily voice cut shrilly across the deep tones of his fellow rulers. “Camelot has taken a position that sorcery is not a crime, and such a stance is against the peace terms the Five Kingdoms agreed on.”

Olaf narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his neighbouring ruler. “What do you propose we do about that?”

Alined gave a non-committal shrug and slid his eyes to Urien.

Rheged’s monarch was quick to take up his role. “We know exactly what Uther’s response would have been to any such action. He would have stamped it out immediately.”

Arthur clenched the arms of his chair but he remained outwardly calm and did not speak. Under the table, Gwen surreptitiously laid her hand on her husband’s knee.

“That was Uther’s crusade,” Olaf said. “I will not commit my people to war over such an insignificant matter.”

“No, only over your daughter’s questionable virtue,” Urien jeered.

Arthur saw Ysmay squeeze her husband’s arm as his face went livid.

“Vivian is respectably married to Prince Cadoc,” Ysmay said calmly.

“Ah, yes.” Urien turned his attention from Dyfed’s king to its queen. “I have no doubt Gwynllyw’s grandson is pleased to assume such a high place within a kingdom worth inheriting.”

Gwynllyw bristled at the slight to Daobeth and this time Gwladys appeared to be every bit as incensed as her husband.

“I am proud to have him as a son-in-law and heir,” Olaf growled.

“An heir,” Alined said, just loud enough to be heard. “Something Camelot is currently lacking. And here its king has suddenly decided to accept sorcery. Perhaps planning to follow in his father’s footsteps.”

The insinuation that Arthur intended to use magic to conceive a son was more than he could tolerate. “I have no intention of repeating the mistakes of the past. My only concern is to bring peace.”

“Wasn’t that also your excuse for allowing Caerleon’s queen to retreat instead of wiping out her feeble army when she dared to challenge Camelot’s fabled might?” Urien said. “You let a woman make you appear weak.”

“Arthur forestalled what would have been a bloody battle to no purpose.”

Urien barely glanced at Guinevere for her spirited defense of her husband.

“Word is you also backed down when you had that dog, King Odin, at your mercy,” he said.

“I chose the path I judged best for all the people of this land,” Arthur said.

“Then you meekly handed Nemeth over to that aged fool. Why not keep those lands if you had truly defeated Odin?”

Arthur stared at Urien. There was no way to make the other king understand that he saw no honour in taking another ruler’s lands simply because he could. “I’m not interested in seizing others’ domains.”

“No, just in having us all docilely follow your lead like mere vassals when by rights you should be deferring to those of us with more experience.”

Arthur was about to protest Urien’s accusation when he recalled Merlin’s words about uniting kingdoms. Did that mean he would in time demand allegiance from the other kingdoms? Did he want that? His frustration came back in full force. If he truly had this supposed destiny to unite lands, then why did the words he needed not come when he needed them? What good was a destiny you could not fulfill?

“Arthur is not asking us to swear fealty, merely to continue to live peaceably together,” Ysmay said.

“Peaceably? Or under his control?” Alined said. “What kind of peace will it be when he commands powerful sorcerers while we continue to keep such evil out of our own kingdoms?”

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat before he realized that Alined was throwing out the accusation in an attempt to encourage dissent rather than from any specific knowledge of sorcerers within Camelot. Arthur felt Guinevere stiffen beside him and Gwynllyw cast a sharp look at them both.

“The matter is simple.” Urien stood, meeting the eyes of each of the other kings in turn, his heavy-set form towering over them. “Arthur has broken the terms of our peace agreement with his new edicts. The question now is do you,” he held Arthur’s gaze steadily, “intend to reverse your recent decisions and ban sorcery and sorcerers from Camelot?”

Arthur was conscious of all eyes fixed on him. “No.”

“Then our agreement is null and void.”

“I propose a new peace treaty,” Arthur continued without breaking eye contact.

Urien cast a skeptical glance around the table. “How will this new treaty guarantee the protection and security of all our kingdoms?”

“What kind of protection?” Olaf demanded.

“Protection for those of us who have banned the evils of magic within our borders from those with powerful sorcerers who will expand their territories at our expense.”

“It is a simple matter to include such terms,” Olaf said.

“But Camelot has already demonstrated its unwillingness to abide by these agreements. Is there any point in making another?”

“I assure you of my intention to honour any agreement we reach here together.”

“Actions speak louder than words, boy.” Urien was still standing. “If your actions prove the truth of what you say, we can meet again to discuss this matter in the spring. Meantime, I feel it would be best for the safety of my own kingdom to return there now.”

The suddenness of his announcement took Arthur by surprise. Before he found the words to placate Rheged’s king, the big man gave them all a nod and marched from the room followed by his retainers. For a moment there was silence in the chamber as the remaining monarchs exchanged uneasy glances, then Alined, too, rose to his feet.

“It seems our talks are done for the day. I bid you good evening.” With a nod he followed in Urien’s wake trailed by his own retainers.

Gwynllyw watched him go with narrowed eyes.

Beside her husband, Gwladys sighed deeply. “I fear that although we have passed mid-winter there are darker days ahead.”

Arthur was uncomfortably reminded of Rodor’s similar pronouncement.

The words seemed even more prophetic when Arthur was advised only a few hours later than both Urien and Alined had departed Camelot with their retinues.

“How could they possibly have made ready to depart in such a short space of time?” Guinevere questioned from her place at the table in the royal chambers, the meal in front of her momentarily forgotten.

“They never intended to stay,” Arthur said. “They began preparations to leave while we were in council.”

“What do you suppose that means?” Guinevere asked.

“I don’t know,” Arthur said. “But we will soon find out.”

~

The next day the remaining royalty of the Five Kingdoms were gathered again in the council chamber when Leon interrupted with a message for King Arthur. With a sense of dread at news serious enough to warrant the intrusion, Arthur slowly stood and walked from the council table to where his knight waited inside the chamber door. The eyes of the other monarchs followed Camelot’s king.

After hearing the report, Arthur turned from the grave-faced knight to meet Guinevere’s eyes. From her stricken look, Arthur thought his expression must have betrayed more of his dismay than he intended. He returned to his place at the table before speaking. The other monarchs waited in silence, alerted by his sudden tenseness that whatever bad news had reached their host likely affected them all.

“Word has come that Rheged’s army is assembled on our northern border.”

Gwladys stiffened. Arthur spared a sympathetic glance her way knowing that put the hostile forces on Daobeth’s border as well.

“That explains Urien’s haste,” Gwynllyw said. “He needed to reach his army before we learned of their position.”

“Do you believe he means to attack,” Guinevere questioned. “Or is this a defensive manoeuvre as he claims?”

Arthur shook his head resignedly. “He would not go to the expense of assembling his soldiers without planning to use them. He does not fear me, he is convinced he has the strength to forcibly take as much of my land as he desires.”

“Arthur, you know you have my full support, such as it is,” Gwynllyw said.

“Thank you, but you would do well to prepare to defend your own borders.”

Of all the Five Kingdoms, Daobeth, once the strongest, was now the weakest in military power. Its once-mighty citadel had never been rebuilt after the dragons’ assault and its territory had shrunk to a fifth its previous size.

“You are right,” Gwynllyw acknowledged to Arthur although he was looking directly at Gwladys. “We will make ready to guard our kingdom, but we are also ready to assist you if necessary. Your defeat of Urien may be the best defense we have.”

Before Arthur could express his gratitude, he was cut short by a second interruption. Leon’s grim expression grew even more solemn at whatever was whispered in his ear, his eyes fixed on his king. Bracing himself, Arthur gestured for Leon to come to him this time.

Bending close, Leon said softly, “An army from Gwynedd is amassed on our southeastern border.”

Ysmay gasped softly.

“But that means we cannot safely return to Dyfed,” Olaf said angrily.

“That’s why Urien and Alined both chose to attend these talks and then left early. To ensure you were all here and unable to effectively aid us while they planned to squeeze Camelot between them.” Arthur berated himself for not having foreseen any of this although he knew it had been carefully planned and executed in a way that preserved utmost secrecy. “Gwynllyw, you and Gwladys should leave for Daobeth as soon as possible. Olaf, you and Ysmay are welcome to remain within the citadel here as long as necessary. For now, you must all excuse me. I need to meet with my own council.”

The royals stood as one.

Leon left to assemble the Round Table.

Olaf faced Arthur. “I should like to take part in your defense planning. We have, after all, at least one common threat.”

“Of course,” Arthur said. “I will join you there momentarily.”

Camelot’s king gestured for a guard to escort Dyfed’s royal party to the Round Table. Then he waited until the room had emptied except for Guinevere and the one person Arthur had studiously avoided looking at until now. As he met Merlin’s eyes he was saddened but not surprised to see the devastated look on his friend’s face.

“This is my fault,” Merlin said. “More war and destruction. This can’t be what was meant to happen.”

“If so then it is my fault,” Arthur said. “I should have been able to broker peace.”

Guinevere huffed exasperatedly at them both. “Alined has been attempting to disrupt the peace for years and Urien has been looking for an excuse to expand his territory since Uther first fell ill. Rather than blaming ourselves we need to end this as soon as we can with as little bloodshed as possible.”

Arthur gave her a small smile. “You are right.” He took her arm and squared his shoulders before fixing Merlin with a stern look. “The Round Table is waiting on us to do just that.”

~

 

“What of Caerleon?” Elyan asked.

“Queen Annis agreed to a truce and she allowed us safe passage through her kingdom, but she is under no obligation to supply troops to fight our wars,” Leon said. “Besides, we have little time. We have to decide which threat to defend against first, or if we should split our forces in two. All our information suggests that Rheged has the larger force, it makes sense to send the bulk of our army to the north and only a smaller contingent southeast.”

“That puts us at a disadvantage on both fronts. Also, if either or both of them advance they will be well into our territory before we meet them since they are already positioned on our borders,” Percival said.

“Not if we move quickly.” Arthur felt all eyes turn to him. “We’ll send our army north to meet Urien. At the same time I’ll take a party of knights only and ride south. Alined will not expect us to move so quickly with no men on foot.”

Gwaine and Percival exchanged a glance but Leon’s eyes remained fixed on the king.

“One knight is equivalent to ten foot soldiers,” Arthur continued. “We can halt Alined in his tracks before Urien can mount his first assault against the bulk of our troops.”

The others around the table looked at each other.

“Those who face Alined will be overmatched as well as tired from a hard ride,” Gwaine said.

“But it does give us our best chance,” Leon said.

“If you can halt Gwynedd’s advance, then I can get through to Dyfed,” Olaf said. “Once I’m there, Alined will be forced to turn back or risk us coming at him from behind.”

“It won’t be safe for you to accompany us,” Arthur said. “Especially as you need to get Queen Ysmay back safely.”

“If you make the arrangements we can pass through Nemeth while you engage Alined,” the other king said.

“I’ll send word to Rodor, then. It should reach him ahead of you and he can ensure your safe passage through to Dyfed.”

A general plan of action decided, they bent over the maps spread across the table. in front of Arthur to pinpoint the best location to set up a defensive line in the north and plan a route for the bulk of the army.

No time was wasted in dispatching the appointed leaders to ready their forces to march. Messages were sent to Nemeth and Olaf left to organize his departure from Camelot.

Then Arthur, Leon, Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan gathered around the more detailed maps of the south.

“Riding hard, we should meet them about here.” Leon indicated the spot.

“That means the best place to engage would be this area. The wide open space will work to our favour on horseback,” Percival said.

“It will be of utmost importance to preserve the element of surprise for as long as possible. The less time they have to prepare for an assault the more advantage we keep,” Leon said.

Arthur glanced at how far the candles had burned down. They had only a few hours of daylight left, but they could put several leagues behind them in that time. “We leave in an hour’s time.” He ignored the expressions of mild shock at the speed with which they were expected to assemble a party of knights for battle. “Be ready.”

For the briefest moment after the knights had gone, Arthur allowed himself to dwell on the possibility this was not a good plan. Then the sound of someone clearing his throat made the king realize he was not alone in the chamber. “What is it, Merlin?”

“Arthur, Alined use magic against you.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Arthur began before he looked into his friend’s face. His gaze narrowed sharply. “What do you know?”

“Trickler is a sorcerer.”

Arthur tried to recall who Trickler was.

“Alined’s fool.”

Arthur remembered the man who had entertained them at the peace talks his father had hosted. Vaguely he recalled breathing fire and conjuring butterflies and a love spell but his memory was hazy. “How do you know … never mind.” He hesitated. “Just do whatever it is you usually do.”

~

Merlin was exhausted. Despite having been unable to travel through the darkest hours of the night – and Arthur had chafed at how long the nights were this time of year – they had made good progress since leaving the previous day. The three score knights sat stiffly, none willing to show fatigue, but their usual teasing had ceased and their mounts were slowing. Even the spare horses were tired. Yet Arthur increased their pace further on the stretch of open meadow in front of them and Merlin pushed aside his weariness to keep up.

They were halfway across the grassy expanse when Merlin’s horse shied. He calmed the animal while he scanned the ground to see what had caused the creature’s fright. He saw a snake at the same time as he registered the sounds of frightened horses all around him. Gazing around in dismay, he saw the entire meadow was carpeted with snakes, all of them unnaturally alert and hissing. Most of the knights were working hard to control their mounts, but one or two had already been thrown and were hacking at the snakes with short swords to avoid being bitten.

Merlin’s eyes flashed gold as he muttered the words of a counter-spell. As suddenly as the multitude of snakes had appeared, they slithered away again. Struggling to calm his mount, Merlin caught Arthur’s sharp glance.

Amid the confusion, Merlin got close enough to speak to Arthur under his breath. “Why was there a spell here, did they know we would come this way?”

“We’re likely following the same path Alined took from Camelot to meet up with his army. This trap was probably set up as they passed through, knowing that sooner or later we would follow.”

“There could be more surprises along the way,” Merlin said.

There was no more time for private discussion. Merlin hoped the others put the snake incident down to a temporary natural phenomenon. Thankfully only one horse had been bitten and both of the men who had been thrown had escaped without injury.

Far from slowing their progress in anticipation of further magical traps, Arthur quickened their advance. Biting back his exhaustion, the sorcerer hurried to keep pace.

An hour later Merlin caught himself nodding in the saddle. He snapped back to attention knowing what Arthur’s solution would be if Merlin were foolish enough to fall asleep and end up on the ground. He did not fancy a dousing of cold water.

Then a sudden feeling of terror banished any thought of sleep. A conviction that Mithian was in danger gripped him so tightly he almost could not draw breath. He had halted before he consciously formed the thought that he must turn around and head for Nemeth as quickly as he could. Vaguely he realized Arthur had come to a stop beside him, but before Merlin could draw breath to explain what he was doing, Arthur spoke first.

“Guinevere,” the king gasped and abruptly Merlin was struck by how pale Arthur had become. “Guinevere’s in danger.”

“Sire.” Leon was ashen-faced. “We have to turn back, Camelot is under attack.”

“I knew it,” Arthur said. “I knew Guinevere’s safety was threatened.”

“It’s Morgana,” Gwaine said. “Morgana has attacked.”

Aware that the king was about to order them to ride back to Camelot without delay, Merlin pushed aside the voice in his head screaming at him to rush to Nemeth. “Arthur.” At first he was afraid the king would not listen. “Arthur,” Merlin said more loudly. “It’s a trick.”

“Sire, we must hurry,” Leon urged.

Arthur’s eyes darted from Merlin to Leon but he hesitated to give the order to retreat.

“It’s a trick,” Merlin said and his sense of desperation began to ease as the truth of his own words sank in.

Arthur took several deep breaths before looking backward at the rank of knights. They had all come to a stop and a few had even begun to wheel their mounts around although no order had yet been given to return to Camelot.

“Stop.” Arthur commanded.

Despite the tormented expressions on some of the knights’ faces, they all stayed where they were.

“Sire,” Elyan said urgently. “We have to turn back, it’s Gwen, she’s in trouble, I know it.”

“How do you know?” Arthur demanded.

“I …” Elyan appeared confused.

“Leon, how do you know Camelot is threatened?”

Leon opened his mouth to answer but no words came out.

“It’s a trick,” Arthur commanded forcefully. He raised his voice so his men could hear. “Whatever peril you think you sense, it is nothing more than a clever spell. There is no danger behind us, only ahead of us.”

“How can you be sure?” Elyan questioned. “If Gwen is in trouble …”

“Sir Caradoc,” Arthur ordered. “Why do you feel we need to turn back?”

“It’s my mother, Sire,” the man answered with a tinge of embarrassment. “She’s deathly ill.”

“Was she fine when we left Camelot yesterday?”

“Yes, Sire, but now … I just know she’s ill.”

The king turned to a knight that Merlin thought looked especially close to breaking rank and riding back.

“Sir Andred, why are you thinking of deserting your duty?”

The man’s eyes were anguished. “My son, Sire. He’s been injured.”

Arthur turned back to Leon and Merlin saw comprehension dawn in the knight’s face. The king urged his mount resolutely forward. After only the briefest hesitation Elyan followed. Leon passed along the order to march, waiting to ensure that everyone obeyed before falling into line himself. Within minutes the last of Merlin’s apprehension fade away. He looked at Arthur. The king was now more determined than ever to hasten them on their way.

~

The light was growing dim and Merlin hoped Arthur was satisfied with how close they must be to Alined’s forces, enough that he would call a halt for the night. The long shadows of the trees made darker lines on the dark terrain and it was hard to see the sodden ground they were crossing. When Gwaine and Percival rode up to station themselves one on each side of him, Merlin concluded that the knights were aware of how fatigued he was and apparently intended to catch him before he could fall. He gave Gwaine a tired but grateful grin.

Something bright flashed beneath the king’s horse’s hooves an instant before a ball of flame appeared from nowhere to hurtle directly at Arthur. In a blink Merlin responded with a tiny wave of his hand which he hoped neither of his nearest companions noticed and the fireball winked out of existence even as Arthur ducked. Before any of them could react further, Merlin saw another flash on the ground beneath Leon who rode directly behind the king. Another ball of flame materialized to fly toward the knight. Merlin had just time to deflect it, ignoring the small explosion when it crashed into a nearby shrub, before locating the trigger in the damp ground under his horse’s hooves. While everyone’s attention was directed outward around them, searching for the source of the fireballs, Merlin focused on the bright object partially buried under soggy leaves and whispered an incantation. The object flared up at the release of magical energy causing his horse to rear. This time he was too tired to hold on and Merlin found himself dumped unceremoniously on the cold ground.

Percival took hold of the horse while Gwaine leaned over to stretch a hand down to his fallen friend and hoist him back onto his feet. Leon was scanning the area around them, alert for further magical assaults, but Arthur was staring directly at Merlin. He raised his eyebrows questioningly and Merlin responded with, “It’s fine,” hoping Arthur would understand that he meant more than just himself.

“Good. Then haul your backside back onto that horse. We can get another league further before full dark.”

Muttering under his breath, Merlin took the reins of his horse from Percival and dragged himself up.

Gwaine gave him an amused grin before turning to take a good look at the spot where the shrub was smouldering, bright in the twilit gloom. “That was close.”

~

Gwaine crouched beside Percival by the fire outside Arthur’s camp tent and held his hands to the warmth. Elyan emerged, face lit by the flickering torchlight from within before the tent flap closed behind him. Leon strode up purposefully.

Elyan stopped him before he could enter Arthur’s tent. “He wants to speak with Merlin before he hears our reports.” His breath fogged the air and he rubbed his hands together.

Leon frowned. “I thought he would want to know immediately what our scouts found.”

“He said he’ll call us in after he’s talked to Merlin,” Elyan advised Leon before joining the other two knights at the campfire.

Gwaine saw impatience as well as puzzlement in the senior knight’s expression. “Maybe the lovers want a few moments of privacy,” the dark-haired knight drawled.

Elyan gave his comrade a disgusted look. “Be careful about repeating that rumour, you know what Arthur did to the last person he caught saying it.”

Gwaine grinned unapologetically in response. Leon moved a few steps closer to the fire but did not crouch down with the others.

“They could be discussing the enchantments we had to pass through on our way here,” Percival said. “In Gaius’ absence I would think Merlin would be the best source of information about that.”

“Is that what you think it was?” Leon’s frown deepened further.

“What else could it have been?” Gwaine said. “Flaming balls of fire that appear out of nowhere, the spell that almost sent us all racing in the opposite direction, and there is no way those snakes were behaving naturally.”

Leon looked around at each them. “Is no one else bothered that the king who claims to be fighting against us to rid this land of sorcery is using it himself?”

“Is that surprising?” Gwaine asked.

“Not as surprising as seeing magic used to defend us,” Elyan said.

“What do you mean by that?” Leon snapped at the dark-skinned knight who looked up, startled at the sharp tone.

“I mean how we got through each of those traps,” Elyan replied. “It had to be sorcery on our side but I didn’t know Arthur had formed an allegiance with any magic-user to travel with us.”

The First Knight scowled. “Arthur knows we need to fight Morgana on her own terms and we cannot afford to drive potential allies into her camp. Those are his reasons for lifting the ban on sorcery,” Leon said. “It does not mean the king has put his trust in some sorcerer or has brought one with us.”

“It could be someone in our ranks who’s merely protecting himself,” Gwaine said.

“Arthur might have obtained a shield of some kind that repels magical attacks,” Elyan said.

“It was Merlin,” Percival said, unconcerned when the others stared at him in shock.

Elyan looked blank. Gwaine had no quick retort; he simply gazed at the big knight thoughtfully.

“That is not true.” Leon snarled angrily and the others looked at him in surprise at the uncharacteristic outburst. “I have known Merlin longer than any of you.” Leon’s challenging gaze traveled around the group crouched by the fire. “There is not a shred of evil in him. He’s loyal to Arthur and to Camelot and I would trust him with my life.” Leon’s gaze came to rest on Gwaine as if expecting him to be the one to defend his friend before Leon glared back at Percival. “How dare you accuse Merlin of being a sorcerer!”

At that moment the tent flap opened and Arthur stepped out, trailed by the subject of the knights’ discussion.

Arthur raised a brow at Leon’s irate stance and followed the direction of his glare.

Percival shrugged in answer to Arthur’s inquiring look. “I only pointed out that Merlin is the sorcerer who protected us from those enchantments today.”

Gwaine watched Merlin closely, his eyes narrowing as every drop of colour drained from his friend’s face. Then Merlin met his stare and a flush turned his face a fiery red.

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Gwaine felt Leon’s angry gaze turn towards him but he did not spare him a glance.

“I … I …,” Merlin stuttered.

The young man looked truly frightened until finally Gwaine took pity on him and relaxed his stern expression. At Gwaine’s grin, relief flooded Merlin’s face.

“Gwen knew,” Elyan said abruptly and everyone turned to look at him. “She told me to keep an open mind if anything surprising happened. I had no idea what she meant, but she said I would understand.”

Shock and horror were growing in Leon’s expression at their words. He turned to Arthur who met his gaze without speaking. The king’s silence and Merlin’s lack of denial told Leon Percival had been right.

Arthur regarded Leon’s stony expression before he turned to look at Merlin. Before the king could open his mouth, Merlin nodded and made his way into the dark beyond the firelight.

“Our scouts have returned with the location of Alined’s forces?” Arthur asked as if nothing untoward had just occurred.

“Yes, Sire,” Leon said stiffly.

Arthur gestured the four of them into the royal tent. “Then we have much to discuss.”

Throughout the next hour Gwaine divided his attention between Leon’s clipped tones and Arthur’s calm but subtly impatient comments. The two of them typically did most of the strategizing, anyway, with Percival and Elyan contributing their insights. No one remarked on Gwaine’s uncharacteristic quiet although Arthur gave him an occasional searching glance.

“Alined’s army is half a league due south of us. If we move out at first light we can be upon them while they break camp,” Leon was saying. “Such defences as they have set up for the night will be down and they’ll be unprepared to defend against our attack.”

“How many?” the king questioned.

“We outnumber their knights, but only just.”

“Foot soldiers?”

“Estimate about four score.”

Once they had finalized their plans for the morning’s battle plan, there was a momentary silence. Then Leon stood stiffly, bid them an unusually formal farewell, and left the tent. Gwaine saw the First Knight pause at the exit, his eyes fixed on something – or someone – outside before he let the flap fall back in place and he marched away.

Gwaine glanced at the others and then moved outside himself to join Merlin. He sat alone by the fire nearest the royal tent, his pale face thrown into sharp relief by the flames. Percival and Elyan joined the two of them followed shortly by Arthur himself. Merlin glanced at each of them but did not speak, using a stick to poke at the fire. None of the others spoke either as they crouched around the campfire in a rough circle, their breath fogging the air along with the smoke.

“Not going to turn the sparks into a roaring dragon or the smoke into a dancing horse?” Gwaine grinned at Merlin’s uncertainty as to whether the knight was encouraging such actions or disparaging them.

Then Merlin grinned back. “Only if you want me to.”

“No, thanks,” Arthur said, prompting a mischievous glint in Merlin’s eye.

“Did you actually stop those flaming fireballs?” Elyan asked.

The grin faded from Merlin’s face and he nodded warily.

“And got the snakes to leave?”

Again the nod.

“Were you planning to enlighten us?” Gwaine asked drily.

“I was going to tell you eventually,” Merlin said, his expression pleading for understanding.

Gwaine realized suddenly why Lancelot and Merlin had been so close, what secret they had shared. “Lancelot knew, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Merlin said.

“Why did you tell him and not me?” the dark-haired knight asked, offended.

“I never told him, he found out when we killed the griffin.”

“You killed the griffin?” Arthur exclaimed in disbelief.

Merlin gave him an impatient look. “Gaius told you it was a creature of magic, it could only be killed by magic. Which wasn’t easy seeing as I had barely learned how to incant actual spells instead of just moving things with my mind.” Merlin ignored the dumbfounded looks directed his way. “But Lancelot saw me and heard me that night.”

“Ah,” Percival said knowingly. “That was it.”

Merlin glanced sideways at Arthur’s tight expression. “It wasn’t him,” Merlin said.

Arthur looked back at him, startled.

“It wasn’t Lancelot,” Merlin said more forcefully, meeting each of their gazes in turn before looking Arthur in the eye. “It was a shade conjured by Morgana. Lancelot would never betray you.”

“I knew something was wrong when he came back from the dead,” Gwaine said.

“You did not,” Elyan contradicted. He looked at Merlin. “Why didn’t you stop him from ….” Elyan paused before he could complete his question and his eyes slid to Arthur.

Merlin sighed. “By the time I figured out Morgana’s plan and tried to prevent the meeting I was too late. I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Arthur said with finality as if hoping to end the conversation.

“Morgana was violently opposed to your marrying Gwen,” Merlin said softly. “She may have done something to Gwen as well, enchanted her.”

A spark of hope flashed in Arthur’s eyes before he said calmly, “It’s all right. It’s in the past.”

Merlin went back to poking his stick into the fire. The others watched in silence, each lost in his own thoughts. Then Merlin raised the glowing end of the stick into the air and blew gently, his eyes flashing as the sparks coalesced into the image of a doe. Everyone stared transfixed as the fiery deer lifted her head before the image melted away into embers.

Arthur stood. “We have a battle to face tomorrow. As interesting as today has been, you would all be wise to sleep while you can.”

~

The sun had cleared the horizon but was hidden behind the treetops, the western sky still a deep blue, as Arthur and his troops, all mounted, made their way through the woods. Merlin was fairly certain they were heading downhill, albeit a gradual slope, and he thought the trees around them were thinning.

Leon received a nod from the scout who was leading the way and signalled a halt. Arthur drew up beside him.

“They’re just over this rise of ground, Sire,” Leon said. “The woods end here. We’ll be in the open as soon as we clear the hill.”

Arthur opened his mouth to reply when the whooshing sound of an arrow cut across their conversation. Time slowed and Merlin’s eyes flashed before anyone could react. The bolt which had been aimed at Arthur bounced harmlessly aside to land on the ground. In the next instant the strong bough the archer had chosen as his perch snapped without warning, causing man and weapon to fall from the tree. Gwaine was quick to dispatch the fallen sentry.

Arthur glanced sideways at Merlin. “You’ve done that before.”

The sorcerer gave him a tiny shrug in return, his grin fading immediately at Leon’s revolted expression.

King Arthur drew his sword and held it high in the air, waiting until his three score warriors focused all their attention on him, poised to engage in battle. As always, Merlin was slightly in awe of how every one of the men following Arthur, himself included, took confidence from the king’s calm assurance and at the same time focused entirely on winning the battle for their leader.

“For the love of Camelot!” Arthur cried as he spurred his horse forward. As one, his troops followed at his heels, the early morning light at their backs. The moment they topped the rise they saw the enemy camp spread out below them, partially dismantled, no one yet mounted although their horses had been readied. Shouts came from the soldiers below at the sound of a large group of riders thundering towards them. A hundred pairs of eyes squinted at the oncoming knights before men scrambled to arm themselves.

Merlin scanned the men below, looking for Trickler near King Alined. He spotted a figure who was making no effort to obtain a weapon. While the soldiers around him jostled each other in their efforts to prepare a defense, the sorcerer calmly stood his ground wearing a hooded green cloak and no armour. He tossed his head back and raised his arms. As the wide sleeves fell back to reveal slender arms and the hood dropped away from a face framed by long, auburn hair threaded with grey, Merlin realized the sorcerer was a woman.

A wall of fire sprang up directly in front of King Arthur’s horse causing the well-trained war animal to shy and the entire charging column of red-cloaked knights to check up. Then the flames disappeared as suddenly as they had appeared. Despite how quickly Merlin had doused the blaze, it had the intended effect of disrupting Arthur’s headlong rush, albeit only momentarily. Already the king had his startled horse back under control and was hurtling forward again. The delay had given Alined’s forces a few precious moments to organize and Merlin saw several warriors mount to meet the charging enemy.

The sorceress looked up in surprise when her wall of fire was doused but she wasted no time before her eyes flashed again. A strong wind hurtled toward the advancing Camelot knights. As if they had run into a solid barrier, Arthur and his troops could not continue their forward charge and found themselves driven backward by the gale, coughing and blinking. The enemy forces mounted and were now riding hard toward the Camelot knights across the ground which had been swept clean in the unnatural wind.

Controlling his horse enough to concentrate, Merlin spoke his own incantation. The wall of wind split as though a wedge had been driven into it before it rushed off to either side, whipping past the oncoming soldiers and pelting them with leaves and dust as it blew away.

Arthur met the line of defenders, plunging through the mounted knights into the ranks of men on foot, sword swinging. His knights behind him likewise cut through the enemy soldiers.

When Merlin turned his attention back to the sorceress, she had joined hands with a man and the two of them were chanting in unison. Merlin realized it was Trickler and Camelot now faced not one magic-user but two combined.

The pair finished their chant, still holding hands, staring up at the sky with arms uplifted. Merlin followed the direction of their gaze to see a huge ball of flame, ten times the size of the ones that had been planted in yesterday’s trap, dropping towards Arthur’s troops. A cry came from one of the Camelot knights who had looked up to see the flaming orb descending on them.

Merlin reached up a hand, knowing instinctively he would not be able to extinguish this one as easily as the smaller ones. He felt the suspended weight of the fireball bearing down on them as if he had caught it in his hand, and pushed back with all his power as he forced it to slow and then change course. With a final heave he threw it back. The eyes of both sorcerers grew wide as they let go of each other to dive to the ground in opposite directions. They sheltered themselves as best they could from the resultant explosion when the ball of flame crashed to the ground in their midst and sent a spray of sparks into the air.

The Camelot knights were fully enveloped with enemy soldiers. Merlin was swept into the fray, doing his best to stay on his horse while he made his way through the fighting to where the two sorcerers had been. His eyes searched through the combatants, trying to locate the woman in the green cloak and Trickler.

Before he caught sight of them, a force dragged him from his mount and threw him to the ground. A horse reared, he was not sure whether it was his own, and Merlin rolled desperately aside to avoid the hooves. Before he could gain his feet, a dagger hurtled at him. He barely had time to deflect it before his eyes fell on the cloaked sorceress, her hand outstretched toward him.

Wisps of grey-streaked auburn hair had come loose from her thick braid and her left side was streaked with dirt where she had landed on the ground when she dived out of the path of the fireball. Her expression was thunderous and Merlin had no doubt she would not hesitate to kill him. Before she sent another weapon flying at him, he sent a blast of magic at her that lifted her bodily and threw her backward several paces.

The fighters around them fell back, giving the sorcerers a wide circle clear of the loud clashing of swords and screams of pain which filled the rest of the camp. Merlin climbed to his feet only to feel eyes boring into his back. He turned slowly to see Trickler leering at him with the man’s habitual smirk.

“So, it’s you, is it?” Confidently, but without taking his eyes from Merlin, Trickler walked over to where the green-cloaked sorceress lay groaning and offered to assist her.

With a disdainful look she ignored his outstretched hand and got painfully to her feet while shooting murderous glances in Merlin’s direction.

Guardedly, Merlin watched both of them closely. Despite her previous attacks on him, the sorceress now appeared to be waiting on Trickler’s command.

“Uther had magic at his disposal all along, did he? I suspected as much,” Trickler said.

“No, he never knew,” Merlin said.

“But Arthur does, hmmm? Of course, the two of you are so close.”

Merlin chose not to rise to the bait.

“No denial? Not that it matters. My master would prefer you were both dead, anyway. All that effort to get here so quickly, all this fighting, for nothing. Once you’re dead it will be a simple matter to remove King Arthur in a permanent sort of way. Camelot without its leader will fall quickly.”

“Why are you doing this? Arthur has made the land safe again for you and I and others with magic,” Merlin said.

“Why would I care?” Trickler asked in genuine surprise. “I have no interest in fools who could not find themselves a place where they could use their talents and profit from them.”

“Your only concern is for yourself?” Merlin said in disgust.

“Of course, just like you or your king or anyone.”

“Or your King Alined?”

Trickler merely smirked. “War will tear apart the kingdoms and in the process my master will become rich.”

“What makes you think he’ll share his wealth with you?”

“He always has. You will not stop us.” Taking his companion’s hand again, the two of them began to chant an incantation.

A glow formed in the air between the magical combatants and obscured Merlin’s view of the other sorcerers’ faces. He raised his hands defensively, feeling the cold detachment that accompanied the rise of his strongest power.

Hands joined, Trickler and the green-cloaked woman stretched out their arms as if to push the glowing column forward at Merlin. He braced himself and pushed back with both of his hands, halting the forward progress of the pillar of energy. Disbelief flickered in Trickler’s eyes and fury in the woman’s before both redoubled their efforts. The bright glow moved slightly closer to Merlin before it stopped again, then inched back towards the other two. A tinge of panic touched their faces but try as they might to change its course, the glowing column got closer and closer to them. Then Merlin spoke a word and the brightness exploded outward, knocking him off his feet.

~

Arthur battled his way to where Alined’s royal tent stood partially erect, having been in the process of dismantling at the time of Arthur’s attack. Leon and Percival were engaged in relentless combat on either side of him, but Arthur had a moment to scan the fighting in search of the other king. He spotted the man and plunged through the crowd of warriors toward him only to have Alined face him calmly, weapon sheathed.

“All that effort wasted,” the older king said. “Once my sorcerers kill yours nothing will stop them from wiping out your famed knights one by one, after they remove you, of course.”

The fighting around Arthur had ceased as everyone appeared to be transfixed by whatever it was Alined was watching. Arthur was at the edge of a crowd ringing an open space which glowed more brightly than fire. With one eye on the other king and a bloody sword clenched tightly in his hand, Arthur turned to look into the brightness only to feel the colour drain from his face. Merlin was facing not one but two sorcerers. Then the glow exploded and Arthur, like everyone around him, was thrown to the ground with spots exploding behind his closed eyelids.

Blinking, he was the first to regain his feet to see Merlin slowly rising as well. Breathing a sigh of relief, Arthur spun to locate the other two sorcerers but he could see nothing except scorched ground where they had been.

He gaped in astonishment before he became aware of the silence around him as everyone stared in shock. Several of Alined’s soldiers fled in terror the moment they gained their feet and even the Camelot knights fell back. Arthur met Merlin’s eyes where he stood alone, his hands dropping back to his sides as everyone around him gazed in awe. Then Arthur turned to Alined and levelled his sword at the other king.

“Do you surrender?”

Alined’s unpleasant face was ashen. His eyes darted left and right but none of his own soldiers had remained nearby to defend their king. Knowing that he would stand no chance against Arthur in combat, Alined bowed his head in defeat. “Yes.”

~

As much as Arthur wished to give his men time to rest after their hard ride followed by an intense battle, there was another army facing his soldiers a good three days’ journey north. He ordered Alined to accompany him, allowing the other king only one escort, intending to deliver the monarch into safekeeping at Camelot while Arthur continued north to meet Urien’s forces.

Only a dozen Camelot knights had been killed in the fighting, but Arthur was forced to leave another half dozen to travel more slowly with the wounded. Fewer than two score knights followed him as they pushed their mounts as hard on the return trip as they had heading south.

During the entire journey only Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan spoke directly to Merlin or even approached him. Several knights gave him a wide berth, though they had all been tolerantly amused if not overtly friendly with the king’s manservant in the past. Arthur had felt a twinge of misgiving himself seeing how thoroughly his friend had obliterated not one but two other sorcerers seemingly effortlessly. Of course, Merlin _had_ seemed tired as they reorganized after the battle, but he made no complaints when they immediately headed back to Camelot.

Merlin himself did not give any outward sign he was bothered by the uneasy looks he was getting, but Arthur watched his friend lapse into lengthier silences than usual and he only smiled genuinely when Gwaine made some amusing remark. Arthur resolved they would have to have a talk – he winced at the thought – when there was time. Or maybe he could just give his friend a punch in the arm, that usually cheered someone up.

~

The second nightfall after Alined’s defeat, Arthur refused to stop despite the darkness. The moon was full enough to make night travel less dangerous and he was determined to spend at least part of one night in Guinevere’s arms before leaving again.

The city guards were stunned when the king and two score bone-weary knights rode through the gates in the dark of night with a royal prisoner in tow. Arthur wasted no time in ensuring appropriate accommodation for their imperial guest before he sprinted for his own chamber. Guinevere was waiting, having received word the king was back.

“Arthur!” She threw her arms around him in complete disregard of the layers of mud and remaining traces of gore.

He returned her hug wholeheartedly before capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. They broke apart after an interminable embrace. Arthur spied buckets of water already warmed and waiting for him.

“Give me a moment to wash and …”

When he stepped away from her she grabbed his hand and drew him toward the bed. “Arthur, I don’t even care.”

~

The sun had already risen when Arthur opened his eyes the next morning, its rays angled across the length of the chamber. Guinevere stirred beside him as he rose to use the wash water he had forgone the previous night. Cold as it was, he was fully awake within moments of dunking his head in the bucket.

“Arthur, be careful.”

He turned to see Guinevere sitting up in the bed and moved to sit beside her. “We’ll be back soon, and we’ll be victorious, don’t worry.”

She gave him a look that said clearly how foolish it was to advise her not to worry. He leaned over to kiss her soundly before dressing as quickly as he could in the clothes he had strewn across the chamber the night before.

Arthur strode into the courtyard, pleased to find his knights mounted and ready to move out and his horse packed and waiting for him. Then he glanced around and his brow furrowed.

“Where’s Merlin?”

Several knights shifted uncomfortably, exchanging uneasy glances that made Gwaine give them a disgusted look. Turning on his heel, Arthur went directly to the physician’s quarters and threw open the door.

Gaius jumped. “Sire?”

“Is Merlin still here?”

“I didn’t know he was back,” the old man said in surprise.

“We got in late last night,” Arthur crossed the crowded workroom and pushed on the door to the tiny chamber at the top of a few steps. The door would not open fully and Arthur gave it a shove only to hear a groan from inside the room. He looked down to see Merlin sprawled on the floor in the clothes he had traveled in, his body blocking the door from opening all the way. He mumbled but did not move.

Arthur glanced back into the workroom, smiling when he located what he was looking for. Calmly he picked up the bucket of Gaius’ used wash water. Ignoring the physician’s bemused stare, Arthur marched back to the tiny bedchamber, forced the door open, and dumped the bucket on Merlin’s head. Sputtering, the dark-haired head, now soaking wet, lifted from the floor and Merlin’s eyes fluttered open.

“Time to go,” Arthur said. “Rise and shine.”

Merlin glared at him blearily but bit back whatever he was going to say when Arthur raised the not-quite-empty bucket threateningly.

Gwaine guffawed loudly when the king returned with a dripping and heavy-lidded sorcerer in tow. The other knights only stared in amazement.

Arthur barely gave his friend time to drag himself onto the horse that had been prepared for him before giving the order to ride out.

~

After only one night on the road, as the sun began its downward descent on the second day, Arthur came in sight of Camelot’s army. By the time he reached the camp’s edge, soldiers were waiting to take him to the knight commander.

“What’s the situation here?” the king questioned, trying to keep the curtness out of his tone despite his own weariness.

“We reached this spot yesterday to find Urien’s army dug in a league to the north. We set up camp here including what fortifications I thought prudent.”

“Good.”

The bushy-haired commander stood a little straighter at the king’s praise. “Do we attack in the morning?”

Arthur considered for a moment. “No. Send word Alined has surrendered and is currently in custody in Camelot and ask Urien to meet with me tomorrow,” Arthur said. “I will have four attendants with me and he is allowed the same.”

“Yes, Sire.” The knight bowed and left to carry out his orders.

Arthur spent the next few hours touring the camp, making certain that every soldier knew he was present with them, before he allowed himself to seek refuge in his own private tent for sleep. He found everything ready for him except his bed was only half made and Merlin was stretched out on the rough ground beside it, eyes closed, snoring softly.

For a long moment Arthur stared down at the sleeping man, trying to reconcile the clumsy, usually cheerful, talkative friend he had come to trust absolutely with what he knew about him now and what he had seen at that last battle. Arthur had assumed, when he thought about it, that Merlin’s powers must be average for a sorcerer, not that Arthur had any clear idea what that meant. Yet he had seen his friend face two others of his kind and emerge victorious without blinking, which meant that either both of them were weak in magic or there was much about Merlin the king had yet to learn.

Arthur yawned. Shedding his armour but without bothering to further undress, Arthur fell onto his bed, pulling up the half-made bedclothes. His last thought before sleep claimed him was that allowing Merlin to slumber on the floor of his tent was only going to encourage those ridiculous rumours.

~

Arthur awoke to find he was being shaken. He blinked and tried to focus on the face above him wearing a lopsided grin beneath an untidy mop of dark hair.

“Rise and shine,” Merlin said. “Unless you want me to fetch the bucket?”

“I’m the king, Merlin, you wouldn’t dare.”

“Half right,” his friend responded. Then he grew more serious. “Your meeting with Urien is in two hours.”

“Fine,” Arthur mumbled, kicking back the bedclothes. “I’ll need clean clothes.”

In short order the king was washed and dressed. He took time to receive an update from Leon on the size and location of Urien’s forces as well as the state of readiness of Camelot’s army.

“Thank you, Leon. Gwaine, Percival, Elyan, and Merlin will accompany me to meet with King Urien, you are in charge here.”

The First Knight nodded but Arthur detected a trace of unease in his face at Merlin’s name.

“We’re ready to ride when you are, Sire,” Percival said.

“Then, let’s go.”

Arthur was gratified to see that Urien was waiting at the appointed time and place, midway between their armies, and had kept to the terms of four attendants only. The other king’s thin lips twitched nervously under his bushy blond beard as his eyes darted to Merlin. _News travels fast_.

The kings nodded respectfully to each other before dismounting. Each handed his sword to his nearest attendant before they approached close enough to stand face to face, Urien’s bulk towering over Arthur.

Arthur spoke first. “You have confirmed the report I sent you yesterday?”

“Yes,” Urien said with another flash of apprehension as he crossed his beefy arms. “Alined’s forces were routed despite his assurances to me of his ability to hold his own defensive position and he is currently a prisoner in Camelot.”

Arthur refrained from ridiculing the use of the term “defensive” for what was clearly an armed invasion. “Alined is merely my guest until we finalize the terms of our treaty which will include abstaining from taking up arms against Camelot.”

“Of course, that fool Olaf will be at your beck and call to enforce the terms of your _peace_.” Urien put just enough emphasis on the final word to make it sound anything but peaceful.

Arthur ignored the attempt to raise his ire. “If you agree to return immediately to Rheged and make no effort to assemble any armed force near Camelot’s border, we can end this now.”

“And if I do not,” Urien said, “will you turn your pet sorcerer on me?”

Arthur leaned closer and lowered his voice. “If I do, I assure you that you would regret it.”

Urien stiffened. “I’m merely protecting my kingdom and my people. Far be it from me to condemn this land to unnecessary bloodshed. On your word that you and your men will return to your own city and make no plans to attack Rheged I will do the same.”

“You have my word that once you and your troops are back within your own borders I will march my army back to Camelot.”

“Then we are agreed.” Urien held out his heavily-muscled arm.

Arthur assumed the man intended the grimace on his rough bearded face to be a smile. “Agreed.” He gripped the other king’s arm to seal the truce until a formal treaty could be drawn up.

They both stepped back away from each other, standing momentarily face to face, before Urien turned away to mount his horse.

As soon as the other king mounted Arthur did the same, then he waited patiently for the other monarch to bid his formal farewell.

Holding Arthur’s eyes, Urien gave a regal nod, a slight smile curling his thin lip. Arthur returned the salutation. Urien wheeled his mount and led his small party away.

“Will he keep his word?” Elyan asked quietly.

“Yes, at least for now,” Arthur sighed. “Make arrangements to monitor their withdrawal. We’ll remain camped where we are until he has left Camelot and there is no sign he intends to regroup his forces against either us or Daobeth.”

“Yes, Sire.”

~

When Camelot came in sight, Arthur was more than a little relieved as well as bone-weary. This time it was daylight and their pace was sedate despite the king’s anxiousness to be home. Guinevere was waiting as Arthur strode into the citadel and he lost no time in sweeping her up.

“You did it, Arthur. You ended this with as little bloodshed as possible and we can enjoy a time of peace now.” She hugged him back eagerly.

“Yes.” He looked down into her shining eyes and could not hold back a smile at her enthusiastic welcome. “And I know how to spend that time.” Taking her hand, he started up the stairs to the royal chambers.


	7. Spring and Summer, Fourth Year of Arthur’s Reign

King Arthur stared out the window of his chamber at the grey and soggy morning. Clouds hovered barely above the castle walls and everything was thoroughly soaked after a day of rainfall. He should be going through his correspondence, but Merlin was perfectly capable of reading the tedious missives and advising Arthur of the important things.

He pondered when it was precisely that his manservant had gone from dogsbody to clerk, scribe, and advisor. It wasn’t when Arthur became aware of his friend’s hidden talents; it had been before that, shortly after Agravaine’s betrayal. Gradually they had fallen into new routines. Arthur was pleased to have Merlin assume the administrative tasks Arthur hated, and besides there were so many of Merlin’s former duties George was better at. The fastidious servant was unfailingly courteous, punctual, thorough, and well groomed, qualities Merlin did not possess. Now that he thought about it, Arthur wondered exactly where the younger man had been on those many occasions he was absent or late to his duties; doubtless magic had been involved.

The king stared at the dark head bent over the pile of parchments. He looked like the same peasant boy who had polished the prince’s armour, mucked out stables, emptied chamber pots, and laundered clothes, although he had matured with age: his build more muscular, his face more angular, and his voice deeper. He still dressed the same. Arthur idly wondered whether the man owned more than two shirts. If not, they were kept in remarkably good repair. Guinevere had tried to explain once that the rough fabric worn by the lower classes was much more durable than the expensive materials worn by nobles. It looked itchy and Arthur’s shoulders twitched as he imagined having to wear such clothing.

Arthur heard Guinevere come up behind him before her arms slid around his waist and her breasts pressed against his back. He turned around to embrace her in return.

“This one is from King Rodor,” Merlin announced as he set one parchment aside and picked up the next. “He is congratulatory on your recent victories against Alined and Urien.” Merlin’s eyes scanned down the page. “He thanks you for keeping the peace and he wants …”

When he said nothing more, Arthur looked away from his wife to see Merlin’s face had gone pale. Then, before the king could question such a strange reaction, Merlin collected himself and went on in an oddly flat voice.

“He would like Princess Mithian to have a permanent home in Camelot and he asks you to arrange a suitable marriage. She arrives in a fortnight.”

Frowning at his friend’s lack of enthusiasm, Arthur said, “But this is good news. I feared with Rodor’s illness Meliant may be less kindly disposed toward us and give Urien an opening to forge an alliance between Rheged and Nemeth. However, if Meliant’s sister is a permanent member of my court we can count on the prince’s support no matter what develops with Urien. Why would this proposal bother you?”

“Me? I’m not bothered at all, I’m glad,” Merlin said with a tight-lipped smile.

“This really is good news!” Guinevere smiled happily. “I look forward to Mithian’s company.”

Arthur gave his wife a grateful look. “You wouldn’t mind her presence?”

“Of course not. Surely you don’t think I’d be jealous after all this time?” Guinevere did not wait for a response before she continued. “Is there any hint as to who they have in mind?”

“No one, but Rodor has included a list of criteria to assist in choosing someone appropriate.” Merlin retrieved the parchment and handed it to Guinevere who took it eagerly, running her eyes down the page.

Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “This details the required rank, size of estate, extent of land holdings, number of servants, number of residences. It reads more like a business proposal than an attempt to find a husband for a beloved daughter.”

Arthur raised his brows at her. “There is no doubt Rodor dotes on his daughter so he would want to ensure she is properly cared for. She’s not going to cook her own meals or sew her own clothes.” He looked thoughtfully out the window. “It will not be easy to come up with a suitable husband. I’m not sure even Leon’s estate would be considered sufficient to maintain a royal bride.”

Guinevere sighed. “I do know how these things are supposed to work, but I hoped this proposal was the result of Mithian’s desire and not strictly a strategic move. Rodor does say she specifically requests we choose a man whose home is within the city so that she can live here.”

“Perhaps you can make up a list of eligible suitors and when Mithian arrives you can help her find one she will fall madly in love with.” Arthur gave his queen an indulgent hug.

“I will,” Guinevere responded challengingly, leaning back from the embrace to look him in the eye.

~

 

Mithian smiled at the formal welcome she and her attendants were given when they arrived at Camelot’s citadel. The king and queen were attended by several knights in red capes with chain mail glistening in the sunshine ranged along the palace steps, framed by red banners with the golden dragon which hung limply in the warm day. It was not quite as grand as when they had expected her to be queen, but it was an impressive show nonetheless. Arthur and Guinevere stood front and centre dressed as finely as Mithian herself, waiting calmly to greet her once she dismounted.

The princess was not fooled by King Arthur’s calm detachment at her arrival; she knew he was both pleased and relieved by this permanent tie between their kingdoms. Her father had not relaxed his implacable condemnation of sorcery or Camelot’s tolerance of it, yet this gesture of sending his daughter to marry and settle in Camelot proved his respect for Arthur.

She frowned to think how frail her father had seemed when she left, he who at one time had stalwartly led his own army and dared to dispute Uther over the sovereignty of Gedref. There was no doubt her brother would be king before the year was out. Meliant was a good man, but he leapt to conclusions too quickly. Part of the reason Mithian had agreed to marry now was to ensure her brother could not easily break with Camelot. He shared their father’s disapproval of magic, and whereas their father had grown more lenient with age, Meliant was young enough to be intolerant of those he disagreed with. He would not have countenanced Arthur bringing Merlin to Nemeth had Meliant known that the man was a sorcerer.

Mithian’s eyes searched the crowd around the king and queen but she could not see Merlin’s familiar face. It was uncharacteristic for him to be absent from Arthur’s side and she wondered if she was the reason. She felt her cheeks grow hot at how anxious she was to catch sight of a mere peasant, a man with no land and no income, and her concern with what he might be thinking or feeling. Determinedly, the princess focussed on the warm greetings from Arthur and Guinevere and followed gratefully after the servant who had been tasked with showing her to her quarters.

She had been given the largest, warmest, most comfortable chambers in the citadel save only the queen’s apartments. She had been afforded a look at the queen’s apartment on her first visit to Camelot which she was told had been closed off from the time of Ygraine’s death until Guinevere’s coronation, except for a brief period when they were apparently occupied by a troll. Mithian had been unable to discover the story behind that odd, cryptic remark. The queen’s chambers were more luxurious than even the king’s – either the current or previous king. Arthur had kept his own chamber rather than occupy his deceased father’s larger rooms. In fact, gossip had it that the queen herself rarely slept in her beautiful chambers and both Arthur and Gunievere spent every night they could in each other’s arms.

The happiness the two of them shared strengthened Mithian’s determination to find a way to accomplish everything she needed to do without sacrificing her own happiness or, hopefully, anyone else’s.

~

 

Merlin avoided accompanying the king and queen to greet Mithian’s party when they arrived in Camelot at midday. It was painful enough to know she was here to cement the alliance with Nemeth by choosing a suitable husband from the list of high-ranking nobles Arthur and Gwen had assembled, no matter how often Merlin told himself he had no reason to feel that way. He had shared few conversations with the princess the handful of times he had been in her presence, and one kiss was hardly sufficient to make him feel like a jilted suitor. There had never been any hope of a courtship between them. He was thankful she had been honest with him and stopped him from making a fool of himself. More of a fool, anyway. He wondered if she had looked for him on her arrival or noticed his absence.

He continued to elude the visitors as well as Arthur and Gwen for the rest of the afternoon. His guardian gave him a few searching looks as he stabbed at the evening meal Gaius had prepared without eating much. Merlin had no intention of sharing the source of his melancholy, thankful Gaius was used to his ward’s secretive moods and refrained from questioning the young man.

They had just finished their meal when the princess appeared at the physician’s door. Gaius greeted Mithian cordially but Merlin only glanced up in dismay at the sound of her voice before staring fixedly at his uneaten supper.

“I wondered if I could have a private word with Merlin?”

Without raising his head Merlin knew Gaius’ eyebrow had reached his hairline.

“Perhaps we could use this chamber,” she continued.

Merlin heart thumped in alarm as Mithian strode across the chaotic workroom and up the few steps to the door of his tiny bedchamber. He looked helplessly at Gaius but his guardian merely watched curiously. As Merlin jumped to his feet he recalled what a state his room was in; untidy did not begin to describe the mess. He muttered an incantation under his breath as he hastened to catch up to Mithian before she got a glimpse of the disarray.

She had already reached the top step and as she glanced over her shoulder to give him an amused look, Merlin realized she had probably seen discarded clothes scooting under his bed and books closing themselves before they jumped up on the small table. He schooled his features into his most innocent expression and followed her into the tiny room, shutting the door before he turned slowly to face her.

Mithian stood with her hands clasped in front of her holding a pair of the gloves she usually wore, staring fixedly at the floor. “I have missed you, Merlin.”

The words as well as her uncharacteristic shyness surprised him and he found himself at a loss for words.

“I was hoping you missed me, too,” she prompted, glancing up at him.

“I did … I mean, it’s good to see you,” he choked out.

“You weren’t there to greet me when I arrived.”

So she _had_ noticed his absence.

Mithian was twisting the gloves she clenched in her hands. “The last time we met you led me to believe, well, that you wanted to be with me. I was hoping your feelings hadn’t changed because I wanted to ask your assistance,” she began hesitantly before rushing on. “I was hoping you could suggest which of Arthur’s nobles would make a suitable husband for me.”

Merlin’s eyes widened in shock. She was usually so observant, how could she not know how painful it was for him to even contemplate her marriage?

Without meeting his eyes she continued, “I thought you might know if there was a man amenable to the match who has no intention of sharing his wife’s bed and would not object to my sharing it with another.”

As his mind slowly grasped what it was she had asked, Merlin experienced a mixture of affront at what she was suggesting along with a spark of hope that she would go to such a length to have any relationship with him at all.

“I have shocked you again,” Mithian said with an apologetic smile at his expression. “I am sorry this is all I can offer you, but I did explain about noble marriages – it’s not about love and companionship, it’s a legal contract to determine property rights and succession.”

He was torn between contempt for the way the wealthy negotiated marriages and a desperate wish to take what she was offering even so. At the same time, he was conscious that she was the one bargaining away her freedom, placing herself permanently in Camelot to pledge Nemeth’s commitment to Camelot while making few demands on him.

“Are you certain you want to do this?” he asked.

“I am most certain I want to remain here, close to you, for as long as you want my company.”

That a beautiful, intelligent, charming, desirable princess claimed to want to be with him, knowing who and what he was, overrode his sense of injustice that his lack of rank and property precluded public declaration of her sentiments. “Lord Olwyne and Lord Eldred are devoted to each other. Lord Eldred married when he was much younger but Lord Olwyne never has. After his older brother was killed by bandits and his eldest brother fell in the battle against Morgana’s troops, Olwyne became heir to his father’s estate and title, even though he lives in his apartments in the citadel so he can be near Eldred. There is always talk about his parents pressuring him to marry but so far he refused. He might …” Merlin’s voice trailed off but Mithian gave him a grateful smile.

“Then I’ll speak with him,” she said softly. She took a step closer to Merlin, making the tiny room seem even smaller. “It is good to see you again.”

He tried to catch his breath but his heart had started racing at her nearness. Her dark hair was held back from her face with the simple circlet of braids she wore for travelling but her gown was as fine as any she had worn to court Arthur. A sparkling necklace drew attention to the tops of her breasts framed by the low-cut gown. Merlin dragged his gaze up but only as far as her lips. Then he took the final step to close the distance between them and captured her mouth in a kiss. In response, she slid her arms around his neck and pressed closer. Rational thought did not return until she ended the kiss and stepped back out of his embrace.

Her brown eyes were bright. “I hope that means you spared at least a thought for me during your recent adventures.”

He was jolted by the memory of the spell that made him believe she was in danger and how desperately he had wanted to rush to her immediately. “I did.”

She seemed gratified by the sincerity of his response, then she glanced at the door. “We should return to the main room before Gaius grows suspicious and comes to make sure I haven’t taken advantage of you.”

“Haven’t you?”

“Not yet.”

Before he got lost staring into her eyes again, Merlin forced himself to turn and open the door. He preceded her down the few steps and gave a properly deferential bow as she passed.

“Thank you for your help, Merlin.” With a smile for Gaius she swept out of the room.

The physician turned an inquiring gaze on him but Merlin tore his eyes away from the princess’ retreating back and sat back down at the table to finish his meal.

~

 

“Lord Olwyne, I wonder if I could have a word with you?”

The tall nobleman who had been addressed halted in the palace corridor. His eyes widened when he realized it was the princess from Nemeth who had accosted him. “Of course, Your Highness.” He gave her a courtly bow.

“In private, if you please.”

She had been waiting outside his chambers and he could not fathom any possible reason, but one did not refuse royalty. He opened the door he had been heading for and ushered her inside.

“My lord, I would guess you are aware of the purpose for my visit here.”

It dawned on him then what her reason for speaking with him was. He smiled and he shook his head. “My lady, …”

“Hear me out, if you would. I think we can help each other.”

As she outlined her proposal he wondered how she had come by her information about him. It was certainly more thorough than his scant knowledge of her. “I have successfully avoided any pretense of marriage up to this point. Why do you think I should break that now?”

“For the same reason as me,” she said. “To please our families even though we cannot help where our hearts go.”

“Deception rarely makes anyone happy,” he said.

“Wouldn’t a union with royalty please your family?”

Olwyne had to admit such a match would go a long way toward healing the rift that had developed between him and his parents since the deaths of his older brothers. Two boys had died in infancy. His eldest brother, a knight who had fallen in battle, had died childless and the middle brother had not married before his life was cut short by bandits. From having three grown sons to carry on the family name, his parents were now solely dependent on their youngest for the successors they so desperately wanted. He would never have children, but he could give them grandchildren with royal blood; his family would overlook much for such a happy outcome.

Olwyne could get along perfectly well without his parents’ good opinion, but if this union would appease them and restore family harmony without interfering in his personal life, perhaps he should make the gesture. It would not cost him much after all, and the princess seemed charming company.

Mithian must have seen his answer in his face because she continued speaking. “All I ask is your respect and your discretion and I will grant you the same.”

“Can I ask who your lover is?” he questioned, curious.

She hesitated. “No.”

“You know trysts are never secret for long.” As he well knew.

“You are correct,” she said. “But I think it would be best to keep this one private for a while.”

He examined her face, trying to ascertain if she had been entirely honest with him. She seemed sincere, and he sympathized with her situation as he had always pitied his eldest brother for being the one whose marriage would carry the weight of the family name.

“Princess Mithian, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

~

 

Mid-morning the next day Mithian heard a knock on the door of the chambers she had been given as an honoured guest of the king and queen. When her maid opened the door, Mithian was pleasantly surprised to see Queen Guinevere.

“Princess Mithian, could I speak with you?”

“Of course, my lady. Please come in.” The queen was beautiful, with long dark hair artfully arranged in a crown of braids and dusky skin, but Mithian knew that was not the reason King Arthur was so enamoured of her. The princess had watched them as she and her father waited in Camelot until Odin had been removed so they could safely return to Nemeth. Guinevere had been unfailingly clearheaded and Arthur never hesitated to give her his full attention when she chose to speak to an issue. Mithian sincerely hoped she and the queen would become friends.

“You can call me Gwen.”

Mithian smiled. “Thank you, Gwen. And you don’t have to address me as Princess.”

“Arthur and I prepared a list of noblemen.” Gwen indicated a parchment she held. “I hope you don’t think me too forward in speaking with you so soon?”

“On the contrary, I appreciate your kind concern. But I fear your efforts have been wasted.”

“I knew it!” Gwen smiled broadly. “There is someone you had in mind.”

Mithian wondered how she had given herself away. “I didn’t have any particular husband in mind but a suitable suggestion was presented. I’ve spoken with the man in question and he’s amenable to the match.”

“So you have met him?” Gwen said, eyes bright with excitement.

“Yes, briefly, when we spoke yesterday evening,” the princess answered cautiously.

“You like him well enough?”

It seemed an odd question. “I believe we are perfectly suited.”

Gwen looked unaccountably happy. “May I ask who?”

“Lord Olwyne.”

Gwen’s face fell and Mithian felt oddly sorry for disappointing the queen, although the princess was not certain exactly how she had let the other woman down.

“Perhaps it would be best not to rush into any decision. There may be someone you fancy more,” Gwen said.

“Is there a reason we should wait?” Mithian asked. “Olwyne is the heir to a perfectly suitable estate as I understand it and he seems pleasant and well-mannered.”

“I’m not certain he would love you in the way a husband should love his wife.”

“Oh, that. It’s of no consequence to me that he’s in love with another man, in fact it suits my purposes perfectly well.” On the spur of the moment Mithian decided she would be candid with the queen. “He and I have already reached an understanding. I hope I haven’t disappointed you? Present company excepted, noble marriages are a matter of strategic convenience, not love. I do hope that after all we can be friends? I would truly treasure your company. I certainly do not bear any grudge against you regarding Arthur’s rejection of me years ago.” Mithian hoped she had convinced Gwen of her earnestness and was rewarded by a smile.

“Honestly, I would like nothing more than a good friend. I have few at court, I’m afraid.”

It did not surprise Mithian there would be disdain among Arthur’s nobles about his choice of wife, although Mithian knew the queen was far from friendless. “You certainly have Merlin’s loyalty. He did his utmost to be rid of me on your behalf when I threatened to become Camelot’s queen.”

“I hope you don’t bear him any ill will? He is truly a good friend to both Arthur and I.” The queen’s anxiousness about Mithian’ opinion of Merlin reminded her of his efforts to protect Gwen when Mithian threatened to steal Arthur.

“Don’t be concerned, I know he’s a charming man.”

Gwen seemed taken aback at that description. “Charming is not a word I’ve often heard associated with Merlin, even though he is.” Gwen leaned closer. “I was quite taken with him when he first arrived.”

Mithian felt a stab of suspicion that perhaps Merlin’s devotion to Gwen’s happiness was more than just friendship.

“I never knew if he returned my affections, he was always too shy. I should be flattered he noticed me at all given his complete obliviousness to the other serving girls with their eyes on him.”

Her suspicion that Arthur was not the only one to make her his second choice, cooled her tone. “Well, thank you for coming by, my lady. I hope we will have further opportunity to speak soon.”

Gwen seemed surprised by the abrupt dismissal although she graciously hid it. “If I can be of assistance with the wedding preparations, please tell me.”

It did not take Mithian long to track Merlin down. “I had a lovely conversation with your queen,” she said, coming up behind him in the quiet corridor.

Merlin spun around, startled. He looked confused.

“She was kind enough to share with me how close you two are. Working side by side, I imagine it was only natural.” His bewildered look was not fooling her. “That you would fall in love with her.”

“Why would you think that? Because she kissed me?” he asked in surprise.

Mithian’s anger changed abruptly to hurt. “A kiss?” At least she knew now her suspicions had been justified.

A slow smile spread across Merlin’s face as the puzzled look faded. “It was the first time a girl kissed me. But then, I had just died.”

“Died?” Mithian gasped.

“I couldn’t let Arthur drink the poison,” he explained nonchalantly. “I had to drink it instead. Then he risked his life to get the antidote and Gaius administered it but it was almost too late. It was sweet of Gwen to watch over me while I was ill. She’s one of my dearest friends, has been since I arrived in Camelot. But only a friend.”

Mithian wished she could undo the last few minutes. She had let jealousy make a fool of her.

“Arthur would have killed me before now if it was anything more.”

A laugh escaped her at his joke. “I’m sorry, Merlin. I don’t know what came over me to make me behave so foolishly.”

“I’m flattered,” he said softly.

She felt a flush warm her cheeks. Her gaze dropped to his mouth and she felt an almost overwhelming urge to kiss him but at that moment three of the palace serving girls came around the hallway corner giggling together. They smothered their laughter and hastily composed themselves at the sight of the princess standing in the corridor.

The shortest of the three young women, a plain-faced brunette with a buxom figure, gave Merlin a familiar smile and he greeted her by name. She gave Mithian a curious look.

“My lady.” Merlin executed a proper bow to the princess as though he had received some instruction from her before he preceded the serving girls down the hallway, drawing their attention with him.

The princess straightened where she stood and gave every appearance of having already dismissed the king’s manservant from her thoughts. The girls did not give her another glance as they continued down the corridor. For a moment, the princess envied the serving maids. Although their lives were bound to their masters and they had no say over much of their lives, they were free in a way Mithian was not – free to marry or not, free to give their hearts as they chose, even to act on their feelings if they wished and no one would gainsay them or even care. Only once she was married would the princess enjoy similar freedom, and even then only as long as appearances were maintained.

Mithian turned and moved away in the opposite direction down the corridor, longing for a taste of that freedom and hoped her wedding could be arranged in short order.

~

 

Mithian was flattered by everyone’s efforts to make her handfasting a grand affair given the haste with which it had been arranged. The banquet tables were laden despite it being the end of winter and the dishes had been prepared with all manner of spices to flavour food that had been stored for months. She had even seen flowers gracing the hall and was well aware how time-consuming it would have been to find blooms this early.

Still, it was all blending around her as disjointed, vague impressions rather than clear memories as her anticipation grew along with her nervousness. When Olwyne took her hand to escort her from the feast she gave him a grateful look, happy to leave the guests to continue their enjoyment of the food and drink and entertainment.

Olwyne led her to her new chamber and accompanied her inside before executing a courtly bow. “And now, my lady, I leave you to enjoy your night as I hope to enjoy mine.” He gave her an amused grin. “I believe Eldred was actually jealous given the cold looks I have been getting from him all through the celebrations which should make for an entertaining evening. We’ve gotten comfortable in our years together; it doesn’t hurt to stir the pot a little.” Olwyne gave her a wink. “You’ll understand in time what I mean.”

“May you have a pleasant evening, my lord,” Mithian said with an answering smile.

After Olwyne left, Mithian turned slowly and her gaze roamed around the room and came to rest on the bed. As a married woman it was safe for her to indulge her passions, yet she was suddenly more than a little nervous.

Then her reservations were swept away by the sight of Merlin who had entered quietly through the servant’s entrance. Her heart skipped a beat as he walked slowly up to her while she stood transfixed, staring at him. He held her gaze as he came closer until he was standing right in front of her. She tipped her head back to look up at him. His expression made her catch her breath, yet he seemed uncertain.

She lifted her hands to lay them on his shoulders, reminded of how strong those shoulders felt despite his lanky build, then she slid her hands up into his hair to cup his face and bring his mouth down to hers. The kiss was gentle and sweet but suddenly she wanted more. She pressed herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck to hold him tighter. She felt his arms clasp her to him in response.

When they broke apart to catch their breaths, Mithian rested her forehead on his shoulder. His hands stroked her back and she eased her hold enough to tilt her head back. His hands stilled as she looked into his eyes. Then his gaze dropped to her mouth and she answered his unspoken request by kissing him again.

This time when the kiss ended her hands went to the lacing which held his shirt at the neck and she tugged it open. She slipped her hands under the garment, running her fingers across bare skin, pleased to hear his groan. She lifted the shirt up over his head and he let her, then her eyes followed the path of her hands only to gasp in surprise at the round patch of puckered skin in the middle of his chest. She ran her fingertips over the oddly circular scar before looking up at him questioningly.

An embarrassed flush had reddened his cheeks.

“What happened?” she asked softly. “I’ve never seen a scar like that before.”

“It was a ball of fire in a duel with a High Priestess,” he muttered, covering the blemish with one hand.

Her eyes widened. “A sorceress? But, that could have killed you.”

Merlin gave her a lopsided grin. “I’m pretty sure she thought it had.”

Mithian’s eyes dropped back to his chest only to frown at the evidence of what had obviously been a deep wound below his left shoulder.

“A mace,” he answered before she could ask.

She ran her hand over the mark, frowning. “It must have been a bad injury.”

“It was so bad Arthur refrained from insulting me and even began complimenting me.”

Mithian felt a tiny laugh escape her. “You’re lucky you have such a good physician here.”

A serious expression darkened his face. “It was Morgana who healed it.”

“Morgana?” Mithian asked, shocked.

“She decided she had a use for me alive.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and Mithian wondered what scar he had there. “Merlin, how many times have you almost died?”

His eyes jumped to meet hers and he flushed. “Well, I might have lost track.”

“Merlin!” Her heart skipped a beat. “What if you had been killed before I even had the chance to know you?”

“You would have married a handsome prince,” he said.

“I don’t want a handsome prince,” she said tenderly. “Actually, I want you.”

He shook his head with mock sadness. “And I thought you were intelligent.”

Mithian gave him an arch look as she stepped back. “You think too much.” She undid the lacings of her gown, pleased to see that his gaze riveted on what she was doing. His eyes darkened as the dress came loose and his breath caught. She let the layers of silk puddle at her feet until she wore only her long-sleeved shift.

Merlin stood without moving, in fact she wondered if he was even breathing, as she undressed in front of him. Now she took both his hands in hers and laid them on her shoulders. His fingers trembled slightly as they slipped under the straps of the embroidered white shift and slowly slid the garment down.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered.

His tender words and the worshipful look in his eyes made her feel loved in a way she had never felt before. She ran her hands over his chest with the dusting of dark hair, gently caressing the pink scars before pulling his head down to touch her lips to his again.

~

 

It was nearly daybreak before Merlin forced himself to don his clothes and make his way out of Mithian’s chamber. She had fallen into a deep sleep, as though she was as spent as he felt, and he thought ruefully that at least she could not coax him back this time. Except the sight of her stretched out in the bed was inviting enough that he almost threw his last bit of good sense to the wind and crawled back in with her.

Instead, he stole through the dark corridors and crept quietly through Gaius’ workroom where his guardian was snoring loudly on his cot, then up the stairs to his tiny bedchamber. With a heavy sigh Merlin tossed his clothes haphazardly on the floor and crawled into bed.

In what seemed like only minutes, Merlin woke to Gaius shaking him. “Get up, Merlin, and you might have time to take a bite of breakfast. Arthur has been looking for you.”

“Why? What?” Merlin mumbled. “He has a non-sorcerer person to get him out of bed now and bring him breakfast.”

“It’s nearly midmorning and the Round Table meeting has already started,” Gaius said disapprovingly. “Why are you so tired?”

Merlin sat up quickly and grabbed his discarded shirt to pull over his head before his guardian noticed his reddened cheeks. “I had trouble sleeping,” he murmured.

~

 

Merlin slipped into the Round Table chamber as unobtrusively as possible to take up his customary position at the back of the room. He stifled a yawn, thankful there were other servants to ensure the king’s cup never ran empty because he did not think he had the energy to lift the pitcher let alone walk all the way to the table and back.

Although he tried to concentrate on what was being said, only bits and pieces of the conversation pierced the fogginess in his brain. So far, Urien had not made any further move to invade Camelot but nor had he reduced the size of his assembled forces. Annis was reinforcing her own border with Rheged and keeping Arthur apprised of every bit of information which came her way. Alined appeared to have accepted defeat, especially as Olaf had supplemented his standing army with reinforcements supplied by Arthur. All indications were that Alined did not have the funds to mount an attack force in any case as evidenced by the many of his former soldiers who had sought employment with Olaf, untroubled by such a change of allegiance if it meant they would be paid for their service. Of Morgana there had not been further word since her aborted attempt to have Odin execute Arthur.

There was a loud snap and Merlin focused on Arthur’s fingers poised in front of his face. The room was empty except for the two of them and an amused Guinevere who was seated at the Round Table. Merlin wondered if he had actually fallen asleep standing up.

“Why are you so tired?”

“I –” Merlin began but Arthur cut him off.

“We need to discuss your duties here.”

“Is this about not refilling your cup, because you have plenty of servants to take care of that.”

“I know.” Arthur seemed unusually hesitant and Merlin wondered what it was the king was trying to say.

“I’m not doing any more training with George,” Merlin said.

Arthur’s lips twitched at that. “He wouldn’t train you anyway, he said you were a hopeless case.”

When the king did not say anything more Merlin gave an exasperated sigh. “What, then?”

“Arthur, just say it,” Gwen said impatiently and Merlin looked at her curiously.

The king took a deep breath. “There really is no need for you to attend these meetings pretending to be my manservant when we all know the real reason you are here is as my advisor and friend.”

For a moment Merlin wondered if he had fallen asleep again. He blinked several times, but Arthur was still standing in front of him with an uncharacteristically humble expression.

“At all future meetings of the Round Table I expect you to be sitting with us.”

“Oh.” Merlin decided he was not dreaming because his flabbergasted expression put an amused smile on Arthur’s face.

“Are you certain everyone will accept a sorcerer as a member of your council?”

Following the events in the battle against Alined, all of the Round Table was now aware of who he was, although so far only rumours had spread through the courtiers.

“I’ve spoken with Sir Ector, as my seneschal he needed to know, and he fully supports my giving you your rightful position at this table.”

A warm feeling spread through Merlin at the acceptance by a noble as highly esteemed by nearly everyone as Sir Ector was. But there were also those who never would accept him. “What about Sir Aldric?”

“I respect him and value his contributions to the kingdom, both as a knight and now as an advisor, but his opinion in this matter is not relevant. He will either accept your presence or remove himself.”

Arthur would not welcome any show of affection so Merlin merely grinned in response. “Does this mean you’re firing me as your manservant? Again?”

“Well, it isn’t like you actually do anything, anyway.”

Merlin put a hand over his heart. “I beg your pardon.”

“And you were never particularly good at being a servant. I’m surprised any of your duties got done at all since you were apparently sneaking around doing magic every time my back was turned.”

A smile and a shrug were the only answer the king got to his veiled inquiry.

“Merlin.” Gwen smiled broadly as she came up behind Arthur. “You deserve to be acknowledged for what you’ve done, even if we never know all of it.”

“Thank you, Gwen.” Merlin returned her smile, but he could not hold back a yawn.

She gave him a concerned look. “Why are you so tired?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Merlin muttered hoping she took his blush to be a touch of fever. “Since I’ve just been fired, I guess I have the rest of the day off.”

Arthur raised his brows. “Hang on. Just because you’re no longer my manservant does not mean you won’t have plenty to do to earn your keep. As a matter of fact, there will be correspondence and speeches required to make your appointment to the Round Table official. You should probably get started on that. I have better things to do.”

“What are you going to be doing?” Merlin questioned.

“I have knights to train.” The king held out an arm to escort his queen from the room. “Guinevere.”

“Arthur,” Merlin said. He waited until both king and queen paused to look back at him. “I still am your servant. It’s what I was born for, to help you become the greatest ruler this land has ever known.”

For a moment Arthur did not respond although the look in his eyes spoke volumes. “Thank you, old friend,” he finally replied.

Merlin thought the king appeared to be struggling to say more, but he only cleared his throat and escorted Gwen out of the chamber.

Merlin determined he would go back to his own room and get some sleep regardless of what Arthur said. When he reached the physician’s chambers he found Gaius working busily and he could not hold back the news of his changed position. As expected, his guardian’s proud smile was followed immediately by a warm hug. Merlin had not, however, expected to see a tear in Gaius’ eye.

“What’s wrong?” Merlin asked.

The old man shook his head. “I never thought I would see this in my lifetime: the land safe for magic, the king’s closest friend and advisor a sorcerer.”

“I thought you believed in me,” Merlin protested with mock hurt.

“I knew you were destined to make this happen, I knew it would come about eventually. I am just grateful it happened while I am alive to see it.”

The mention of Gaius’ advancing age reminded Merlin how his guardian moved more painfully of late and how his hand occasionally shook as he worked.

Merlin took one of the old man’s hands between both of his own. “I couldn’t have done it without you. You were my teacher and my guide; without you I would never have kept my head on my shoulders this long.”

“That is no doubt true,” Gaius said with a choked laugh before he hugged his ward again.

Merlin returned the hug but did not try to hold back the next yawn.

Gaius looked at him worriedly. “Are you still tired?”

“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” Merlin said. “I promise, I just need a little rest. If Arthur comes looking for me, tell him I’m in the tavern.”

~

 

All in all the reactions to Merlin’s change in status were not as hostile as he had feared. Gwaine and others of the king’s most trusted knights were vocal in their approbation while Sir Ector was quietly supportive. Aldric made no secret of his belligerence but he remained loyal to his king. Geoffrey of Monmouth frowned at Merlin’s presence but not more so than the fussy old archivist had ever done.

A few of those outside the Round Table, especially nobles of Arthur’s court, openly expressed their displeasure at the king’s latest act of appointing a commoner to a position of influence but they were well aware that Arthur would take no note of their censure. Merlin wondered if their grudging tolerance might change to suspicion when it became known Merlin was a sorcerer as well. Not that he was overly concerned with the good opinion of those who believed a person’s worth was determined by their birth.

The one noble whose hesitancy at the change troubled Merlin was Sir Leon’s. They had been friends, and the knight’s visible discomfort around him now was saddening. Gwen’s staunch support and Gaius’ obvious delight, however, cheered him, as did the old man’s general lightheartedness. It was clear to everyone a burden had been lifted from the physician shoulders, although only Merlin understood the burden his mentor had carried, his wish to return to the time when those with magic were respected members of the court. The only worry in his guardian’s face now was when he noticed Merlin’s frequent need to sleep during the day.

By the end of the week following his promotion in status, Gaius was taking every opportunity to poke and prod his ward, certain there was something wrong with him which was causing him to fall asleep at odd times and in odd places. The physician continually attempted to administer various tonics his ward either refused outright or dumped the first chance he got.

One time Merlin nodded off while reading through the royal correspondence which prompted Gwen to give him a concerned look. He was certain she subsequently joined Gaius in the campaign to help diagnose his ‘illness.’

Every day he determined he would get some rest, or at least not stay with Mithian quite so late into the night, and every morning found him staggering into his bed, exhausted but happier than he could remember being.

~

 

Spring passed peacefully enough to make the feast of Beltane the joyous celebration the beginning of the light half of the year was meant to be, despite the threat of war hanging over Camelot.

Merlin was on his way down the stairs from the tiny room that served as his bedchamber, blinking sleep from his eyes and grateful again that Arthur had someone else to drag him out of bed and serve him breakfast. Predictably Gaius was long awake, had a morning meal prepared, and was busily concocting various potions despite frequent pauses to work the stiffness from his fingers.

A knock at the physician’s door was followed by a well-dressed young woman hesitantly entering the cluttered workroom. Merlin recognized Mithian’s blonde maidservant and froze on the stairs as he worriedly ran through the reasons Mithian might have to send for a physician. He could not stop himself from reviewing in his mind every word and gesture of the previous evening which may have indicated she was unwell. She _had_ seemed preoccupied.

“My mistress asks for the physician and his assistant,” the young woman said shyly.

“What is it I can do for the princess?” Gaius questioned.

The young woman hesitated, blushing slightly, and glanced past the old man to the younger man on the stairs.

“It would be helpful to know what I may need to bring with me,” Gaius added gently.

The maid came further into the room as Merlin finished descending the stairs. She leaned close to the physician and said softly, “My mistress believes she may be in a family way.”

Merlin went white and dropped onto the nearest bench, knocking over a container which clattered to the floor. His guardian spared him a curious glance before assuring the young lady he would attend the princess directly. The maid nodded and hurried away as though embarrassed to have mentioned such a delicate topic in the presence of men.

Gaius turned to give Merlin instructions, then he frowned at his ward’s pale complexion. “Are you ill?”

“No, no I’m fine.” Merlin was dismayed by the squeak in his voice and attempted to cover it with a falsely bright smile, aware his mentor always knew when he was lying.

“Do you want to take some of that bread and cheese with us? You haven’t eaten yet.”

Merlin glanced at the food he had been eagerly anticipating a few minutes ago but his stomach recoiled. “No, I’ll eat later.”

“You’re tired day and night, white as a sheet, and now you’re not hungry?”

Merlin gave his guardian his most innocently reassuring smile. “Really, I’m fine. She asked for both of us, we should go.”

With a concerned frown at his ward but refraining from further questions, the physician gathered a few items and handed his bag to Merlin to carry.

Gaius knocked at Mithian’s chamber and announced his arrival deferentially. Merlin was relieved Gaius had preceded him. If he had walked into her quarters as familiarly as he normally did it would have seemed unaccountably forward.

The maid opened the door to admit them. From inside, Mithian thanked the blonde woman and dismissed her, gesturing the physician into her chambers. Merlin’s gaze locked with hers. He decided he must appear a little shell-shocked because she had an amused glint in her eyes.

“My lady,” Gaius broached the delicate subject he had been summoned about. “What are your symptoms?”

Mithian indicated a basket of rags in the corner of her room. “I had those sent up a month ago but I still have no need of them.”

Gaius nodded at her to continue.

“Yesterday morning I woke later than usual, feeling hungry, only to feel sick the moment I looked at the food tray waiting for me. Once I did eat I felt fine. It only occurred to me later, well I wondered …”

The physician used his most reassuring voice. “There are other possible explanations, but if you would allow me to conduct a brief examination I can make a more certain diagnosis.”

Mithian nodded and moved to lay down. Seeing that Merlin stood unmoving near the threshold, Gaius motioned for the young man to come further into the chamber and deposit the bag he was carrying near the bed.

The old man turned his back to give Mithian a moment of privacy to get partially undressed. When he faced her again, he raised his brows in surprise to find Merlin sitting beside her, holding her hand. Merlin could see the physician’s look of reproach.

“If I am with child then Merlin is the father,” Mithian said.

Gaius stood immobile, a shocked expression on his face, staring at his ward.

Merlin looked back at Mithian.

She smiled reassuringly at the question in his eyes. “I appreciate your concern for my reputation but I’m sure you want Gaius to know.”

“Thank you,” he replied, giving her hand a grateful squeeze before turning to meet his guardian’s stare.

The physician recovered as much aplomb as he could in response to his ward’s unspoken plea for understanding. “Well then, let’s see if your suspicions are correct.”

When Gaius confirmed that indeed they were going to have a child, Merlin felt the jolt of those words echo through his spinning head.

“You’re supposed to be happy,” Mithian said wryly.

“I am,” Merlin hastened to assure her. “I think I am,” he added. “Can I be happy and in shock at the same time?”

“I’ve seen it a dozen times,” Gaius said.

Relief surged through Merlin at the lack of censure for keeping such a secret from the one person who knew everything else about him. The old man gave him a beaming smile completely at odds with his usual professional detachment. An overwhelming sense of joy flooded Merlin then, and he turned to give Mithian a tender kiss.

Gaius cleared his throat audibly, waiting until the two broke apart and Merlin returned his attention to the physician before he spoke.

“I’ll see you later, Merlin,” the old man said pointedly and Merlin realized there would be some explaining to do at that time.

He gave his guardian a sheepish smile. “Yes, later.”

Although Gaius tried to maintain a stern expression, a look of fatherly pride stole over his face again as he gathered up his things and gave the two young people a nod of farewell.

~

 

Gwen thought Mithian seemed unusually cheerful when the princess joined her for their now-customary afternoon walk. There was a sparkle in the other woman’s brown eyes that gave Gwen the impression she was bursting with news, and yet she gave no indication what was on her mind as they greeted each other. They took their usual route through the busy palace corridors to the queen’s garden.

Once they were outside, Mithian turned to Gwen to make her happy announcement. For an instant Gwen felt a stab of pain at her own childless state before she chastised herself for such a selfish thought in the face of Mithian’s obvious joy.

“I’m so pleased for you.” Gwen gave the princess a hug.

“Thank you, Gwen.” Mithian returned the hug. “I have been wanting to tell you since Gaius confirmed it earlier but I knew you would be occupied all morning and thought I should wait until our afternoon visit.”

As Gwen stepped back curiosity overcame her. “Is it Lord Olwyne’s?”

“The child will have his name of course but no, we have never shared a bed,” Mithian said. “You knew ours was a marriage of convenience.”

“But I thought, I mean, I was under the impression your lover was a woman.”

“Oh,” Mithian said in surprise, then, thoughtfully, “I see how you came to that conclusion but I didn’t intend to give that impression.”

“Why the secrecy then?” Gwen asked, her curiosity aroused even more. “Who is he?”

Uncertainty clouded Mithian’s expression. “He’s lived here longer than I. I’m not sure if I should be the one to tell you since he hasn’t.”

“So it’s someone I know?” Gwen asked excitedly.

Mithian nodded apprehensively.

“I won’t ask you to reveal any confidences you’re not ready to share,” Gwen said comfortingly. “But I hope you will confide in me. Meantime, you must join Arthur and I for supper so we can share your happy news.”

“Thank you. I hope we can all be friends, Gwen.”

Gwen smiled. “We already are.”

 

For the remainder of the afternoon Gwen found herself wondering which of the knights was Mithian’s lover. The father must be of common birth, although it could be a noble whose property and rank were simply not sufficient to be considered a suitable match for a princess. The mystery kept Gwen from dwelling on a darker thought that if Arthur had married the princess rather than herself he might have an heir by now.

Despite her curiosity, the queen kept her speculations to herself as she greeted Mithian for supper. They had barely exchanged pleasantries when Arthur arrived at the royal chamber, Merlin at his heels. Gwen saw her friend stop short when he saw the table laid for supper and a guest already present.

“Merlin, join us,” Arthur said. “You know Mithian almost as well as we do.”

Gwen thought Merlin had an ironic glint in his eye as she began apologetically to contradict Arthur’s invitation, thinking Mithian might prefer to keep this announcement among the three of them.

“It’s all right, Gwen,” Mithian said. “Merlin already knows; he was with Gaius this morning when he confirmed the news.”

“What news?” Arthur questioned, looking from one to another of them.

“My happy news,” Mithian said. At Arthur’s blank look she spelled it out more explicitly. “I’m with child.”

Gwen watched Arthur’s reaction with some trepidation but he seemed more surprised than anything else. His puzzled look told her he had not expected the marriage to produce children, either, at least not so soon.

“Congratulations,” he said, trying belatedly to appear delighted. He glanced at Gwen.

“Mithian told me this afternoon during our walk,” she said.

“You spent the afternoon walking around?” Merlin asked Mithian with a frown.

Gwen gave him a puzzled look.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?”

Mithian gave him a condescending smile. “I’m with child, not an invalid.”

“But in your delicate condition –”

The princess good-humouredly cut him off mid-sentence. “I am not delicate and I will not spend the next several months resting.”

The queen shook her head at her friend’s unwarranted concern and her husband’s discomfort with the entire subject and for a moment regretted putting Mithian in the position of discussing her state with either man. “Perhaps we should sit and begin our meal?” Gwen suggested to put everyone at ease. She allowed Arthur to hand her into her seat and was mildly surprised when Merlin had the grace to do the same for Mithian.

They had just begun to fill their plates when the princess sat back suddenly before putting a hand to her mouth. Merlin shot her a worried look.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized when she saw the concern in their faces. “It was the smell of the pastries.”

Gwen felt a touch of sympathy for the odd ways pregnancy could affect a woman.

“But those are your favourite,” Merlin asked in a worried tone.

How would Merlin know that? Then Gwen saw Mithian send him a look so full of amused but loving tolerance that a shock of comprehension shook Gwen.

Having belatedly realized the reason for Mithian’s queasiness, Merlin looked sheepishly away from her condescending gaze only to encounter Gwen’s stunned stare. A guilty flush crept up his face. Her mind suddenly reeling with a sense of betrayal and all the jealousy she had been fighting to control since Mithian’s announcement, Gwen stood and fled the room.

She walked hurriedly away down the corridor until she reached a staircase where she dropped down to sit on the top step and lean against the cold stone wall. She heard footsteps approaching from behind but did not turn to see who it was. Merlin sat beside her at the top of the stairs.

Without looking at him Gwen said, “It’s you, isn’t it? You’re Mithian’s lover, you’re the father of her child.”

“Well, since you made it fashionable for servants to fancy royalty.”

He did not say any more but when she looked at him he gave her a sympathetic smile. As she smiled back she asked herself why she was so upset.

“Life never gets it quite right, does it?” Merlin said.“You and Arthur can finally be together publically, free to show your love to the world, but haven’t yet been blessed with children. Mithian and I are forced to keep our relationship private but already we’re expecting a child.”

Gwen acknowledged her jealous resentment that her friends had been granted the one thing she had not been able to obtain. She admitted to herself how much she wanted a baby, both for herself and for Arthur’s sake. She put a hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you, Merlin. In wallowing in my self-pity about what I don’t have, I forgot to be thankful for my blessings. There were many times over the years when I doubted Arthur and I could ever be together. I do truly appreciate how unlikely our relationship is and I should be grateful every moment that he loves me as much as I love him and could make me his queen against all odds.” She smiled at Merlin. “I am happy for you and Mithian. I want to help in any way I can with the child.”

“Thank you.” He smiled back but then an anxious look dimmed the happy expression. “I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

When they returned to the royal chambers a few minutes later, Arthur immediately rose from the table, looking concerned, but her happy expression eased the worry from his face. Seeing the questioning look he shot at Merlin, Gwen walked straight toward Arthur.

She threw her arms around him to hug him tightly. “I am so lucky to be married to you.” She had an urge to laugh at the combination of pleased vanity and utter confusion on his face.

Arthur grasped her arms and pinned her with a look. “If this is about not having children, you know I don’t care about that. There is no one else I would have as my queen.”

“I love you,” Gwen said softly. Then she went to hug Merlin tightly. “Congratulations.” Gwen moved to throw her arms around Mithian. “I am so pleased for you both.”

“What are you congratulating Merlin for?” Arthur demanded impatiently.

Gwen gave him a look of exasperated fondness. “Merlin and Mithian are going to have a baby.”

Hearing it stated so baldly caused Merlin to pale and sink into a chair at which both women laughed. When Gwen turned back to Arthur, his shocked expression threw her further into peals of laughter. He stood dumbfounded before turning his head slowly to Merlin.

Merlin raised his eyebrows in response. “You look more gobsmacked than I was.”

“I’m not sure he does,” Mithian said dryly causing Gwen to laugh again.

“How?” Arthur stuttered.

“Really, you don’t know? You’ve been married for years,” Merlin said.

It was a measure of Arthur’s complete amazement that he barely reacted to Merlin’s jibe. “But I thought Mithian was in love with me.”

All three of his companions looked at the king in surprise.

“I like you well enough but ours would have been a union for purely political purposes,” Mithian said gently.

“But … him?”

“She raised her standards,” Merlin got a quelling look from Mithian for his teasing which wiped the smirk from his face.

Arthur walked slowly over to Merlin who seemed slightly concerned at the evil glint in his friend’s eye. “Well then, congratulations are in order.”

Merlin winced at the force of the punch in the arm he got. “Thanks.” He rubbed his sore arm.

The king turned to Mithian. “Princess Mithian, my sincere congratulations. If everyone is done sharing secrets?” Arthur questioned, his gaze meeting each of them in turn, “Then let’s eat.”


	8. Summer, Fourth Year of Arthur’s Reign

Gwaine cursed his luck for being the one on duty that night when the messenger arrived with word that Denaria, Camelot’s northernmost garrison, had fallen to enemy hands. It was now Gwaine’s duty to wake the First Knight with the news.

The messenger was nearly as exhausted as the horse which had brought him, which was a testament to the urgency of his mission given that royal couriers were praised for their endurance as well as their speed. Gwaine told the man to wait in the Great Hall, instructed a squire to fetch the courier water and food, and went to make his report.

Leon’s obvious displeasure at being awoken was quickly replaced by grim determination when he heard what Gwaine had to relay.

“Urien?” he asked.

Gwaine shook his head ominously. “No, Sarrum of Amata.”

Leon paled at the name.

“I’ll fetch Merlin while you take this to the king.” Gwaine expected Leon to show his usual discomfort at mention of the sorcerer but the First Knight merely nodded, dressing as quickly as he could.

Gwaine led Leon to where the messenger was waiting so he could hear the tale firsthand while the dark-haired knight hastened to the physician’s chambers. Gaius did not stir as Gwaine crossed the cluttered workroom by the light of a torch he had snatched from a wall sconce in the corridor. Then he eased open the door to the small chamber at the top of the steps and stopped in his tracks. The bed was empty and there was no sign Merlin had been there that night.

So he _had_ been right in thinking there was something different about Merlin lately. It could have been merely that the young man no longer had to hide his magic, and that was undoubtedly part of why he seemed more self-assured, but there had been something else as well, an underlying happiness. Now that Gwaine thought about it, the relationship between Arthur and Merlin had changed recently. The king was more open about his respect for his friend, even giving him a seat at the Round Table and abandoning any pretense Merlin was just a servant.

Gwaine briefly considered waking Gaius to ask if he knew his ward’s whereabouts, but if he was right in his suspicion he did not think Gaius would be forthcoming. He left the physician’s quarters and went directly to the king’s apartments.

Arthur was awake and his manservant was assisting him to hastily don travel clothes while Leon waited, relaying as much information as the messenger had told him in their brief interview. At Gwaine’s entrance both Arthur and Leon fixed their eyes on him.

Arthur frowned. “Where’s Merlin?”

“He wasn’t in his bedchamber,” Gwaine answered. “I thought …”

Leon gave the knight a sour look. The king looked irritated. Gwaine was grateful the urgency of their response to the Sarrum’s attack would forestall any retaliation for his insinuation that Merlin spent his nights in Arthur’s chamber. He heard Gwen’s amused chuckle from behind the closed bedcurtains and realized that piece of gossip had been true: the queen chose not to spend her nights in her own beautiful chambers.

For an instant Arthur looked uncertain about what he was about to reveal. “Check Princess Mithian’s quarters,” he finally said. “We march without delay and we have much to discuss before we do.”

Arthur gave the knight an impatient look and Gwaine realized he was standing with his mouth open before he shut it and hurried out of the room.

When he arrived outside the princess’ chamber he knocked lightly before reminding himself there was a battle waiting for them and it was urgent both he and Merlin be present at the war council. A lady’s tender sensibilities would have to be put aside. He pounded more forcefully but before he could call out or make any more noise he heard the door being unbarred and Mithian herself stood there wearing a hastily-donned shift.

Gwaine cleared his throat and determinedly kept his eyes fixed on her face. “I’m sorry to disturb you, my lady, but it is urgent.” He hesitated, unsure how to frame his request, but Mithian stood aside to allow him to enter. Merlin’s voice came from inside the room.

“Gwaine?”

The knight stepped in quickly and Mithian closed the door behind him. Merlin’s head poked around the bed hangings as he obviously donned trousers. His instinctive grin at the sight of his friend filled with unease at Gwaine’s expression.

“Is Arthur in danger?”

“His Highness is in the council chambers. There’s been an attack, we need to move out.”

Merlin’s expression hardened and he hurriedly collected his shirt. Gwaine glanced at Mithian. She was pale but her features were composed. One of her hands rested on the belly which showed her advanced state.

“Merlin,” she said.

He paused at the sound of her voice to look at her.

“Please take care of yourself.”

He gave her what he probably thought was a reassuring smile. “I’m always careful.”

“No, you’re not,” Mithian and Gwaine chorused together.

Merlin gave them a sheepish look and finished dressing.

“Sir Gwaine.”

The dark-haired knight turned to the princess.

“Please watch out for him.”

Gwaine grinned at her pleading expression. “I always try to.”

Mithian gave him a grateful smile and Merlin rolled his eyes at them both as he came closer, fully dressed.

He grasped Mithian’s arms and turned her to face him. “I promise to be careful if you promise to take care of yourself and not worry.” He laid one hand on her belly. “I swear I will come back.”

Gwaine could see that she knew Merlin could not make such a promise any more than she could stop herself from worrying. The knight turned away when she reached up to touch Merlin’s cheek and he leaned down to kiss her.

 

When Gwaine arrived at the council chamber with Merlin, Arthur barely glanced up from the table littered with maps he, Leon, Percival, and Elyan were crowded around. Every torch and candle in the room had been lit and a haze of smoke lingered in the air. Elyan rubbed his eyes before focusing again on the maps.

Leon indicated the fortification that had fallen and the path the Sarrum’s warriors had likely taken on their march from Amata to the fortress at Denaria. “They must have passed through Rheged, here, but word is that no harm was done.”

Arthur looked at him significantly. “So Urien allowed Amata’s army safe passage?”

Leon hesitated. “It is possible he marched through without Urien’s permission.”

“When the Sarrum crossed through Mercia his warriors left a path of destruction in their wake, yet Rheged was untouched.”

“Yes, Sire.”

The implication was clear, although without hard evidence Urien would not be held to account for his alliance with Amata.

“I saw the Sarrum once and only once,” Arthur said heavily. “He and his warriors attended a tournament here when I was ten years old. It was not intended to be a fight to the death, but every opponent any of them faced was killed. They are fierce fighters and they take no prisoners. I don’t expect anyone in the garrison stationed at Denaria to be alive, I expect to find their heads on pikes outside the stronghold.”

Elyan shivered and Leon gritted his teeth. Percival’s hand clenched and unclenched causing the muscles of his bare arms to flex.

The king fixed his eyes on Merlin. “His hatred of sorcery outstripped even my father’s.” Arthur ran a hand through his blond hair which was standing on end in places as though it had been ruffled frequently. “At one time I considered inviting him here to meet with me.”

“Why?” demanded Gwen as she entered the room to join them.

“I thought he may be able to assist us against Morgana.”

“Arthur, you could never verify those rumours,” the queen said.

“No, but I believe them.”

Gwaine was puzzled. “What rumours?”

“That the Sarrum held Morgana prisoner,” Leon said. “For over a year, maybe two. The rumours said five but we know that must be an exaggeration.”

“Morgana?” Elyan questioned. “Prisoner?”

Arthur nodded meaningfully.

“How?” Merlin questioned softly.

“I don’t know. I’m not sure anyone outside Amata does.” Arthur met each of their eyes in turn. “I want you all to know what we’re dealing with. The Sarrum’s warriors will have converted our keep at Denaria into their own stronghold, they will fight to the death to hold it if the Sarrum tells them to, and they are reputed to take down ten men for every one of them that falls in battle. You have three hours to prepare your men to march north and retake that outpost. They will advance no further into my lands.”

~

 

When the sun broke over the horizon, Arthur and his army were already several leagues from the city, the king at the head of the column of mounted knights and foot soldiers following behind. The ground beneath them was soggy with early morning dew and difficult to see in the dim early morning light. The air was heavy with moisture the sun had yet to burn away. Gwaine nudged his horse up next to Merlin’s where he rode alone, lost in thought.

Merlin glanced at the dark-haired knight and smiled slightly. “Hello, Gwaine.”

“So, my friend, you have more secrets.”

Merlin gave him an arch look. “Whatever might you be referring to?”

The dark-haired knight gave his friend a curious look. “How did you end up with a princess?”

“I have no idea,” Merlin said with a note of wonder in his voice.

“You really don’t understand why those who know you would do anything for you, do you?” The knight merely shook at his head at Merlin’s puzzled expression.

“Why aren’t you married, Gwaine?” Merlin asked, obviously embarrassed at the intense scrutiny.

“All the best women are taken.”

Merlin snorted with laughter. “There are plenty of other ladies available.”

“Ladies remind me too much of my toad of a sister. I prefer tavern wenches. You know, when you weren’t in your bedchamber the first place I looked was Arthur’s room.”

Merlin chuckled. “I’m sure he didn’t take kindly to that. Those rumours always irritated him more than me.”

“I don’t know why it would bother him, he has no problem with Percival.” Gwaine shook his hair back from his face. “I used to wonder about you and Lancelot, but I guess I know now what secret you two were hiding.”

“I couldn’t tell you Gwaine.” Merlin gave the knight a look that pleaded for understanding. “Just knowing would have meant you were committing treason and Uther already regarded you as a criminal.”

“I’m supposed to protect you, not the other way around,” Gwaine said. “But after Uther’s death, surely you didn’t think Arthur would execute you for being a sorcerer?”

Merlin was silent for so long that Gwaine was not sure his friend was going to answer. Then he spoke slowly, staring straight ahead.

“I’ve seen Arthur speak of those who have magic with such loathing in his eyes. I never wanted him to look at me that way.” Merlin turned suddenly to catch Gwaine’s eyes on him. “Since the battle with Alined I’ve noticed people giving me that look.”

Gwaine was reminded of the scrawny young man he thought he knew standing on the battlefield, a glowing column lighting the ring of fascinated onlookers in the midst of the fighting. “There are wild stories circulating about you; how you’re no ordinary sorcerer, how you transported us all by magic art to that battle and then to the next in the blink of an eye.”

“You know that isn’t true.”

“Yes, but I saw the size of that ball of fire coming down on us from the sky, and you just waved your hand at it.”

“I didn’t conjure it, I just threw it back,” Merlin said.

“It took two of them to conjure it and you just tossed it back,” Gwaine said slowly. “I saw what happened to them, what was left at the end of the battle.”

The wounded expression on his friend’s face cut at Gwaine’s heart.

“I had to,” Merlin said quietly.

“I know, we wouldn’t have won that battle or avoided the next without your help.”

“That doesn’t matter to some, though, does it,” Merlin said.

Gwaine knew Merlin was hurt by how Leon studiously avoided the sorcerer, foregoing the company of Gwaine, Percival, Elyan, and even Arthur himself when they were with Merlin.

“Leon thinks highly of you, you know. He’s just struggling to reconcile his own past, everything he did under Uther’s orders and maybe Arthur’s, with you being who you are. He knows we are lucky you’re with us. And speaking of luck,” Gwaine eyed his friend speculatively. “That evening a few months ago when I finally convinced you to join us in the tavern for a few drinks and a friendly game of dice, you were uncannily lucky at gambling.”

“That was your own fault. You know I can’t hold my liquor.”

“You neglected to mention that your being drunk means using magic to cheat at dice.”

“I object to the word ‘cheat’. I concede that being drunk might have impaired my good judgement,” Merlin answered loftily.

“Will you give the winnings back?”

“No.”

Gwaine gave his friend with a searching look. “The fire that saved the three of us from those slave traders, before we found the Cup of Life, I take it that was you?”

Merlin nodded.

“You and Lancelot never intended to take out the warning bell when we made our attempt to recapture Camelot, you were after the Cup, weren’t you? That’s how that immortal army suddenly vanished.”

His friend nodded again, hesitantly.

“Keep the winnings, my friend,” the knight grinned.

Merlin grinned back. “Thanks, Gwaine.”

~

 

Arthur had set up camp in the wooded area surrounding the fortress at Denaria and sent scouts to survey what had been Camelot’s northernmost outpost. As he had feared, there was no indication that any member of the garrison which had been stationed there was left alive and indeed several heads were mounted on pikes around the keep’s walls.

Then word came from the Sarrum offering to talk terms, offering to meet with Arthur on open ground beyond arrow range of the stronghold’s walls. Amata’s ruler would bring only one warrior with him and he would allow Arthur only one knight to accompany him.

At the appointed time, Arthur, Merlin, Leon, and Gwaine left camp to approach the stronghold. Arthur ordered Leon and Merlin to stay at the edge of the forest which encroached the keep’s battlements on the west side where the shadows of the trees stretched nearly to the walls. The king and Gwaine crossed the stretch of open ground in front of the southern gates to meet the Sarrum and his attendant.

Both Merlin and Leon simultaneously protested being left behind.

“Arthur –”

“Sire –”

The king held up a hand to forestall what they were going to say. “If anything goes wrong you need to ensure Amata’s troops get no further and we retake this fortress.”

Looking back, Arthur barely contained his outrage at having fallen for the Sarrum’s deception. He and Gwaine had ridden out from the cover of the trees to meet the Sarrum. The man had less hair than Arthur remembered from the tournament so long ago, but the cruelly treacherous expression had not changed. The king had been mildly surprised to see the Sarrum had kept to terms and had only one warrior with him, although that warrior was the size of a giant. Despite the coolness of the evening, both of them had been bare-armed.

Amata’s ruler had delivered to Arthur a set of outrageous demands knowing perfectly well such terms would never be accepted. Then with a smirk he had wheeled his mount and rode back to the safety of his battlements, his giant warrior at his side. Arthur had been only slightly disappointed, not having held much hope for any kind of truce, and more than a little suspicious. But he had not anticipated arriving back at the spot where he had left Leon and Merlin to find Leon seriously wounded and Merlin gone.

The First Knight’s right arm had been hit by a crossbow bolt, but he was conscious. Leon’s testimony as well as the evidence at the site of the attack were clear: Merlin had been the target. Arthur felt the cold grip of panic at the sight of his friend’s blood where Leon said he had fallen after the crossbow bolt pierced his side.

It only made matters worse when Gwaine blamed Leon for Merlin’s abduction. Despite the First Knight’s obvious injury, as far as Gwaine was concerned the fact the other knight was alive meant he had not fulfilled his duty, that he had somehow failed to prevent the abduction because he refused to protect a sorcerer.

All through the night Arthur paced in the royal tent in the centre of his camped troops, gripped alternately by rage at having considered the mere possibility the Sarrum intended to negotiate in good faith and an icy fear for Merlin. There was only one reason the Sarrum would target the one unarmed man in the party: he knew Merlin was a sorcerer.

And the Sarrum’s feelings about magic and sorcery were well known, as was his horrific treatment of prisoners. Arthur’s own father, feared in his own right as a ruler, had in turn privately feared the Sarrum. The man’s brutality was a point of pride with him and tales were told in horrified whispers of men, women, and children staked and hung to die slowly and publicly as a show of the Sarrum’s power. Arthur was never able to obtain firsthand accounts of such things because spies sent to Amata failed to return and in the end Arthur stopped sending his people into the Sarrum’s territory. For the same reason, he could never confirm the rumours the man had held Morgana prisoner or obtain any details of how he had done it.

Now this man had Merlin, wounded, possibly unable to defend himself. Arthur had seen Merlin accomplish amazing feats of power but he was human and he was vulnerable. If Morgana could be captured and imprisoned for such a length of time, so could Merlin. If there was any reason for the Sarrum to keep him alive.

The candles on a stand in Arthur’s tent had burnt down to nubs which emitted more smoke than light. One guttered out and Arthur swiped a hand at it, sending the stand crashing to the ground.

Elyan rushed into the tent, panting as if he had run from the far edge of camp. “A message from the Sarrum, Sire. He wants you to meet with him inside the stronghold, he says he will return the hostage you are looking for.”

~

By midday the arrangements were made.

“Sire,” Elyan began as he, Gwaine, and Percival rode with the king toward the keep.

Its walls were visible above the treetops, bright sunlight reflecting off the armour of those who patrolled the battlements.

Arthur held up a hand but did not say a word. They had been through this many times since the Sarrum’s message arrived and Arthur had said all he was going to say. Over a wounded but recovering Leon’s protests, against the advice of the other knights, even Gwaine’s, and despite Arthur’s own better judgement, he was going to bow to the Sarrum’s terms.

Arthur stopped at the edge of the woods beyond the keep’s gates. This time the sun was above their heads, beating down with a fierce intensity the trees did little to dispel. The knights would remain here out of arrow range while Arthur rode to the stronghold alone.

With a hard look at each of them Arthur silently communicated to them to remain where they were. If, as was likely, the Sarrum proved treacherous, they had sufficient troops to mount an assault on the keep. King Arthur’s death would not go unavenged.

He dismounted and strode calmly up to Denaria’s gates.

~

 

Merlin felt consciousness drag him up out of oblivion but even though he believed his eyes were open he could see nothing. There was a burning sensation in his side. He touched the area and a stab of pain made him cry out. His fingers came away sticky and warm and he recognized the familiar smell of blood.

Moving his hand also made him realize he was shackled. He closed his eyes to help him gather strength and whispered a spell that would unlock the chains. Instead of feeling the cold metal relinquish its hold on his wrists, Merlin felt his own magic curl back on him with another stab of pain, as icy cold as the throbbing wound in his side was burning. He could not remain conscious.

The next time Merlin opened his eyes he lay still for several minutes, calming a rising sense of panic. Forcibly he slowed his breathing and gathered strength again for the spell. This time he was prepared for the icy stab of pain even as horror gripped him. He had heard stories of the Sarrum imprisoning Morgana but had thought the rumours were false. Now he wondered if this was what held her captive, if perhaps these were the very shackles she had worn. He deliberately tamped down his rising panic and fought both his weariness and his fear to gather strength yet again. He tried a different spell but it, too, twisted back on him and he cried out in pain. He stomach protested.

Merlin could not determine how much time passed; it could have been hours but it felt like days. Breathing deeply, he concentrated on the details of his surroundings although the darkness around him was absolute. He lay on what must be solid rock. His wounded side had stopped bleeding but the hole where the bolt had pierced him needed treatment. The stone he lay on felt cold under his cheek, but the sensation in his wrists where the shackles bound him felt colder, as if his arms were encased in ice. That chill crept down his fingers and further up his arms the more he tried to use magic to free himself. His stomach was roiling now. Tears of frustration tracked down his face, drying on his cheeks as he lay there trying to bring himself to make another attempt.

Then stone scraped against stone and a flickering blaze shone down on him from above. Rough hands seized him and dragged him up, aggravating his wounded side. He kept his eyes shut against the brightness of the torches. He felt himself dropped on a cold stone floor, his face pressed against the solid rock, warm blood oozing again from his side.

A boot dug itself into the wound, forcing him to cry out in pain and his eyes flew open as he was unceremoniously rolled onto his back.

“Well, boy, I hope you’re enjoying the hospitality Amata shows to sorcerers. Those shackles are a family heirloom passed down to ensure evil is kept in check. I’m told the stronger the magic, the more pain a sorcerer feels. Morgana learned not to even try to use her power, it hurt too much. Her screams echoed off the walls of her pit a time or two.”

Merlin tried to focus on the man above him in the unaccustomed brightness of the torches but he had only an impression of a short, stocky man without much hair wearing a cruel smile. A wave of sympathy Merlin had not allowed himself to feel for Morgana in a long time washed over him. She had endured this for months, possibly even years, and survived. So could he. If his wound did not kill him first.

Apparently the Sarrum was done talking, or perhaps he was disappointed in Merlin’s lack of response. The sorcerer’s arms were grasped roughly on both sides and he was hauled along behind the Sarrum as the burly man led his warriors up out of what was probably the dungeon. Merlin felt the terrain under his dragging legs change from smooth rock to gravel at the same time as they emerged into sunlight. A courtyard likely.

The Sarrum stopped and Merlin felt his arms released but he had no strength in them to stop himself from dropping face-first onto the ground. He heard the Sarrum’s cold voice greet someone with a contemptuous false deference.

Then Merlin heard another voice answer the Sarrum and Merlin’s breath left in a rush. _How could Arthur be so foolish as to come inside the keep?_ Surely he had better sense than that, surely the knights would have stopped him, but no, there was no doubt that was Arthur’s voice.

Merlin found it hard to concentrate on their words over the renewed pain in his side but he heard a note of barely-restrained fury in Arthur’s tone. Whether they were arguing or negotiating, Arthur said clearly that Camelot’s troops were poised to attack the keep and that they had the military might and the king’s orders to do just that.

The Sarrum only gave a snort of disbelief and replied simply, “Not as long as you are alive. Mostly alive, even.”

In anger, Merlin gathered every bit of power he could hold in himself and directed it at the cold, stocky man facing Arthur only to have that power turn back against him. He screamed at the pain which felt like a sword of ice slicing him open.

Arthur’s voice was hoarse, the fury replaced with a note of horror, as he asked what had caused the cry.

“My special restraints.”

Through the reverberating pain Merlin felt that same boot roll him onto his back causing the metal shackles on his arms to clank against the chain links which held them together.

“It turns a sorcerer’s own magic against him, causing pain. It seems fair to use evil against itself, doesn’t it? Like that witch, Morgana. She’s nothing to be feared; I kept her like an animal for two years, her and that creature from hell. It was such a shame; all that power, all that beauty, abandoned and forgotten in a living grave. I found her weakness: a young dragon. Her love for that creature caused her to suffer more than she ever imagined possible. As it grew, the creature became too big for the pit. Its cries were more heartbreaking than Morgana’s.”

Outrage flashed through Merlin along with dawning comprehension. Aithusa’s deformities, her lack of speech, they were the result of being trapped by the Sarrum along with Morgana.

“Dragons cannot be used like that!” he shouted, staring up at the Sarrum.

The power in his voice coming from someone who appeared too weak to even raise his head startled both men facing each other above him. A flash of apprehension crossed their features fleetingly, but the Sarrum was quick to recover.

A fit of coughing overtook Merlin which further aggravated his bleeding side.

“Be quiet, boy, or –”

The rest of what the Sarrum was going to say was interrupted by a hoarse yell, weak though Merlin’s voice was, his head lifting slightly from the gravel.

“ _O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes_!”

At the end of his shout Merlin’s head dropped down again, exhausted, staring up at the sky.

“Mutter all you want, boy, your pitiful incantations will have no effect.” The Sarrum aimed another kick at Merlin.

 Despite the pain of the blow, he was too weak to react.

Arthur clenched his hand around the hilt of his sword and the giant warrior behind the Sarrum did the same, not the least daunted at the prospect of a duel with the renowned Arthur Pendragon.

“The men of Amata are born with swords in their hands. If you dare to challenge Albin –” The Sarrum broke off again at the sound of wings bringing some airborne creature closer. As he squinted into the sunshine, there was a flash of surprise in the Sarrum’s eyes which was quickly replaced by hard determination. “We captured that monster once, we can do so again.”

He turned to shout orders at his men, only to see their eyes grow wide. The Sarrum looked back at the creature which was now almost directly above them. Its wingspan blocked the sun the entire width of the courtyard.

As the Sarrum drew a shocked breath to shout orders again, a blast of fire swept across the courtyard, scorching the ground everywhere except the spot where the two rulers stood, Merlin laying on the cobbled ground between them. None of Amata’s warriors save the giant standing closest to the Sarrum were left alive. Smoke drifted up from the charred, lifeless bodies, along with the smell of roasted flesh and the stink of burning hair.

The dragon banked and turned in the sky to pass over the keep again, its massive jaws opening. The Sarrum sprinted for the cover of the citadel with Albin at his heels. They never made it before a scorching blast of dragon fire swept over them.

Arthur instinctively assumed a defensive pose, trying to shelter both Merlin’s prone body and himself but he carried no shield. Seeing the dragon turn again in the sky after killing the Sarrum and his giant warrior, the king desperately grasped Merlin by the arms to drag him to safety even though he knew there was not enough time.

Arthur took two steps before a rush of air from the dragon’s wings swept over them. The king dropped Merlin’s arms and spun to meet the onslaught, drawing his sword even as he turned. But the dragon paid him no heed. Before Arthur could react, the immense creature had grasped Merlin in its talons and flew away.

~

Percival’s shout alerted Gwaine. He looked questioningly at his fellow knight before following with his eyes the direction the big man pointed. Then Gwaine felt his own eyes widen at the sight of a monstrous dragon in flight. Satisfaction that such a danger was heading toward the enemy was quickly replaced with additional fear for Merlin and the king.

In what seemed like a blink, the massive dragon’s fiery breath had blasted what must be the courtyard of the keep inside the main gate, near the entrance Arthur had so recently gone through.

As one, all three knights sprinted across the open ground between the shelter of the trees and the walls of the keep. They heard the rushing roar of dragon fire as the creature made another pass over the fortress and saw smoke drift above the tall gates.

Ignoring the heavy wooden barriers which they knew could not be opened from outside, the knights made their way under cover of the keep’s walls to the smaller side gate through which Arthur had been admitted.

“It will be barred,” Elyan said.

Percival nodded but before any of them could attempt to force their way in, the gate opened from inside to reveal Arthur standing there, sword drawn. Elyan had raised his own blade and simultaneously they both dropped their weapons, an expression of profound relief on Elyan’s face.

“The Sarrum is dead,” Arthur said. “I have no idea who his successor might be. We have to get out of here before the remainder of Amata’s troops regroup.”

“We’re not leaving without Merlin,” Gwaine said.

Despair was evident in Arthur’s face and voice as he said flatly, “The dragon took Merlin.”

The bald pronouncement was met with a shocked silence broken only by Arthur pushing through the knights’ ranks, a stench of burning meat drifting from the open gate behind him. Smoke stung their eyes and the backs of their throats. The sound of wings had faded into the distance.

From the foot of the main gates Arthur glanced up at the top of the wall, but there was no way to know for sure whether the battlements were manned once more. The king signalled their retreat and the four of them rushed for the cover of the trees. One brave soul was apparently back on watch because a single arrow thudded into the ground behind them before they reached the safety of the forest.

As Arthur moved to mount his horse, Gwaine put out a hand to halt him. “What do you mean the dragon took Merlin?” he growled.

“Picked him up in its talons and flew away.” Arthur shook off the knight’s hand.

Gwaine had never heard of a person being carried away by a dragon; an occasional large animal, presumably for food, but not a person. He felt himself pale at the thought.

“Merlin is better able to take care of himself than you give him credit for.”

Percival’s calm words gave Gwaine a brief feeling of hope.

“Merlin was bleeding from his side where the crossbow bolt stuck him and manacled with some kind of shackle which prevented him from using magic,” Arthur said.

Horror-struck, all three knights stared at Arthur’s expressionless face.

“We have to follow after them,” Gwaine demanded, although even as he said it he knew it was impossible.

“We cannot track a dragon in flight.” Percival laid a hand on Gwaine’s shoulder.

“We need to return to camp.” Without another word Arthur mounted his waiting horse.

~

 

Gwaine refused to join in the battle plans to retake the keep being discussed in Arthur’s tent. Instead, he sat alone at the edge of camp in the waning light. He did not care whether they successfully drove the last of the warriors out or put an end to this war with Amata. The dark-haired knight had lost friends and comrades over the years, in battles and brawls, but it cut him deeply that Merlin would be gone now after all Gwaine had seen him do in the past months. There was a wrongness about it that gnawed at his insides.

He sat staring into the forest as the sky above went from blue to dark blue to black, until stars filled the cloudless sky and the trees faded into an expanse of formless black. Finally he got to his feet and took his place beside Percival among the silent knights outside Arthur’s tent, each staring into the campfire quietly as though holding a vigil.

~

 

When Merlin opened his eyes, the sun was low in the eastern sky, beginning its climb through wisps of purple cloud, and the sky in the west was still dark blue. It had been full daylight when he was dragged into the sunlit courtyard of the Sarrum’s stronghold, so a night must have passed. He came fully awake as memories rushed back of darkness, pain, and Arthur’s voice.

The horrible feeling of not being able to use magic clamped a frozen hand on his heart at the same moment he became conscious his wrists were no longer icy cold. He lifted his free hands in front of his face. Relief washed over him, then he felt for the wound in his side which no longer burned with pain. It was healed, the only sign of any injury the torn tunic crusted with dry blood.

He was lying on grass carpeted by twigs and leaves, not hard stone, and the breeze on his face spoke of wide open space and smelled of pine needles. Slowly he turned his head to see the Great Dragon sitting on its haunches, waiting for him to waken. Merlin sat up, a smile spreading across his face, as he rubbed at the lingering soreness in his side with unchained hands.

“Thank you.”

The dragon gave him a regal nod in acceptance. “It is my pleasure.”

“Where are they?” Merlin asked, his forehead wrinkling in distaste at the thought of the manacles.

“Destroyed,” Kilgharrah said.

Merlin’s eyes followed the direction of the dragon’s gaze to see a charred spot of ground, twisted shards of metal in the centre of the burned patch. “Good.”

“Dragons are not built for fine handiwork,” Kilgharrah said. “You may have some cuts and bruises on your arms.”

“I don’t care,” Merlin said forcefully, ignoring the scratch marks as he rubbed the red patches of skin around both wrists. “As long as those things are gone.”

“I understand.”

Staring at the majestic creature, Merlin was reminded of the dragon’s long imprisonment beneath the city of Camelot and he felt a new empathy for what Kilgharrah had suffered. And remembered what the dragon had been waiting for all that time. “Arthur has made the land safe for magic once again.”

Even as he got to his feet the dragon’s alien bulk towered far above him.

“You and Arthur have made Camelot safe, it is true. But there are those who would tear apart what you have built. It is your destiny to unite the lands in an acceptance of magic, only then will there be peace.” The great head bent closer, ancient yellow eyes fixed unblinkingly on him. “Enemies can be defeated in battle but also through friendship. Your king will need to know when to take up the sword and when to lay it aside. You will need to trust those you believe to be enemies but you must be on your guard from some you believe to be friends.”

A breeze brushed a few strands of hair from Merlin’s face. He regarded the familiar face covered in scales with its giant maw, its spiked horns, and its wide nostrils that could spout flame or breathe ancient magic. Four thick legs were planted firmly with bat-like wings folded at both sides. Then Merlin frowned and looked more closely. “Are you all right?”

“Of course.”

“Your wing.” Merlin gestured at the dragon’s left side.

“I am tired, Emrys, that is all,” Kilgharrah sighed. “But I shall serve you as long as I have the strength.”

“If you are ill I can heal you.” Merlin was pleased to be able to return the favour the Great Dragon had done him.

“There are some things even a warlock as great as you cannot overcome. I am old, Emrys. My time has almost come.”

The ominous way the dragon said that made Merlin wonder if the creature knew his own death was near. The dragon had been at times guide, protector, even enemy; not always trustworthy, often cryptic, but a source of knowledge and rescue when all else failed. “No,” he protested, terrified at the thought that soon there would be a time when Kilgharrah might not come at his call.

“It is the cycle of life, no more, no less.”

“What will I do without you?”

“You will remember me.”

A touch of annoyance at the glib answer coloured the deep sadness washing through Merlin. “Will I see you again?”

Without answering, the dragon shook out his wings, spread them wide, and took to the air.

Merlin watched until Kilgharrah was a speck in the sky before he looked around to assess his vaguely familiar surroundings. It had been a long time since he last rode through here when in reality he judged only a day or two could have passed since his capture by the Sarrum. He chose his direction carefully and began walking back to where he thought Arthur’s troop was camped.

~

Merlin made certain the sentries were aware of his approach, making it as obvious he was alone and unarmed. He had no intention of being shot down by a Camelot guard after all he had just survived. As soon as he was near enough to be recognized, he saw word of his arrival being passed along, although the soldier shot him a look of mixed incredulity and fear before he headed toward the main body of the camp. Apparently word had already spread through the ranks of the sorcerer’s presumed death.

Merlin did his best to return the silent stares of those he passed with an unconcerned smile as he walked through the camp, headed for the royal tent in the centre where his friends would almost certainly be. As he had expected, Gwaine met him before he could get halfway there. The knight enfolded him in a bone-crushing hug which ended with a pat on the back that nearly knocked him over. Percival and Elyan were right behind to contribute their own punches to his arm that had the sorcerer wincing even as he smiled at their welcome and obvious relief at his safe return.

When they stepped aside, Merlin met Arthur’s eyes and his smile vanished at the king’s incredulous expression. Arthur was examining him closely, pointedly noting the healed wound and unencumbered wrists.

“How is this possible? I saw you, you were injured, you were …”

The king broke off and the expression of anguish in his face made Merlin cringe. When Arthur saw him last he must have looked as bad as he had felt.

“We thought you were dead,” the king said.

“Kilgharrah healed me and got rid of those _things_.”

“Who?”

Merlin realized he would not know the name. “The Great Dragon.”

“You refer to that monster by name?” The disbelief at Merlin’s return from certain death was being replaced by a horrible dawning comprehension which Merlin watched play across the king’s face. “That creature looked remarkably like the one I fought to stop from destroying Camelot leaving people burnt, dying, and homeless after it inexplicably broke free of its bonds.”

“You did not strike it a mortal blow,” Merlin said.

“You lied.” It was a flat statement. “You let that creature escape after laying waste to half the city.”

 “I know what Kilgharrah is responsible for, _I was there!_ ” Merlin all but shouted. He took a deep breath. “I was there, I helped Gaius treat the injured – children, innocent bystanders, the ones who tried to fight the fires – and I stood beside you watching defenders cut down by dragon fire and crushed by collapsing battlements.” Visions of the destruction flashed through his mind as they sometimes haunted his nightmares. He passed a hand over his eyes. “Kilgharrah must have believed his hatred of Uther justified such a revenge; I can only think that a creature who has lived for over a thousand years must count our short lives as insignificant.”

“That hardly excuses the death and suffering, people permanently blinded, injured, homeless.”

“I know, and I wanted to kill him for it. But I couldn’t do it. I ordered Kilgharrah to leave and never come back.”

“You … what?” Arthur’s eyes widened. “That monster came when you called it, it came to save you from the Sarrum because you _spoke_ to it. That’s not magic, what kind of power is that?”

There was a gasp from Elyan and even Gwaine and Percival were regarding Merlin with something akin to awe.

“It was a gift I inherited from my father, Balinor,” the sorcerer answered tentatively.

Arthur’s brow wrinkled. “I’ve heard that name.”

“You and I met him once, briefly.”

Merlin saw the flash of recognition followed by a series of emotions which flickered across Arthur’s face in quick succession: understanding, compassion, sympathy, speculation.

Merlin straightened his shoulders. “Yes, I am the one that set the Great Dragon free.”

“Why?”

“It was our bargain; Camelot would have fallen to Sigan if I hadn’t promised to set Kilgharrah free, but I probably would have done it anyway. He was a creature of magic and he deserved to be unshackled, free to roam the earth. I just wish I could have stopped him from carrying out his revenge. Those deaths are on my conscience and not a day passes that I don’t think about what I could have done to avert what followed after I turned the dragon loose.”

Arthur sighed deeply. “You couldn’t have known what would happen.”

“I did. I knew what he would do, but that didn’t stop me. I’m sorry,” Merlin replied, anguished.

“Yes, you said that at the time. I didn’t know why you felt so guilty.”

“Because I was, it was all my fault. But you should know that Kilgharrah has saved my life before this and all of ours, more than once.”

“I see.” There was a searching look in Arthur’s eyes. “You have some explaining to do, Merlin. Perhaps you can enlighten us as to where Morgana got a dragon.”

“You were at the tomb before us. You had already escaped the collapsing tower when we arrived,” Elyan exclaimed.

“You smuggled that egg all the way to Camelot right under our noises?” Gwaine asked.

“I’m sure Morgana appreciated the effort,” Arthur said.

Merlin flushed. “I don’t know why or how Aithusa – the white dragon – befriended Morgana, but I will not let the dragon cause any harm.”

“The creature would obey you like the Great Dragon does?” Arthur guessed.

“She would have to, yes,” Merlin said.

“In the same way you ordered that monstrous beast to rescue you from the Sarrum?”

“Kilgharrah must come when I call but he would want to protect me, anyway. We are kin.”

Arthur stared at him with a wariness he had not displayed when Merlin admitted to having magic. Finally the king heaved a sigh. “I am glad you’re all right, Merlin.”

“Does that mean you were worried about me?”

“Yes, I was. Now, if you don’t mind, we were planning a siege.”

As Arthur and the other knights turned to leave, Gwaine put out a hand to stop Merlin from following after them.

“We thought you were dead,” Gwaine said heavily.

Merlin was struck by the deep lines worry had carved into the knight’s gruff face. “I’m sorry.”

“Mithian asked me to look after you and I didn’t. But I guess you didn’t need my help, anyway.”

“I was lucky that crossbow bolt didn’t kill me, and that they dragged me out of that hole before I bled to death,” Merlin said seriously. “That we were outside in a place big enough for the dragon to get to me.”

A wry grin erased the worry lines on Gwaine’s face. “Lucky for me, because I didn’t fancy trying to explain to Mithian how I let you get killed. I was more afraid of facing her than I am of tomorrow’s battle.”

As Merlin returned his friend’s grin he became aware of the circle of disbelieving stares being directed at him. Gwaine looked around and put one arm protectively around his friend to steer him toward the royal tent where the others had gathered.

~

 

The Amatan archers were unable to prevent Camelot’s troops from storming the keep when the battlements erupted in flames, forcing the keep’s occupants to abandon their strategic advantage on the walls of the stronghold. Then the gates unbarred themselves, swinging wide to admit Arthur’s troops.

Amata’s warriors were the fierce fighters they were reputed to be, but lack of a leader left them without a reason to hold the keep at Denaria. The purposelessness of their battle lust was outmatched by the Camelot soldiers fighting to avenge fallen comrades and regain a strategic stronghold for the safety of their own land. The fighting was over in a matter of hours.

King Arthur assigned a garrison to rebuild the keep’s defenses, thankful there was minimal damage after its takeover by the Sarrum and recapture by his own troops, not to mention the dragon’s assault. The Camelot troop permanently stationed in the fortress would also assist the local people in restocking what the occupying forces had consumed or destroyed. The new commander acknowledged his instructions with a bow and departed.

Alone with his most trusted knights, the king heaved a sigh, ran a hand through his sweaty blond hair, and dropped into a seat in the hall. Leon’s right arm was wrapped in bandages but none of the others had sustained serious injuries.

“Sire, do you feel such a strong force is needed here? Surely Amata has no reason to attack again,” Leon questioned, unsuccessfully hiding a wince as he rested his heavily-bandaged arm on the tabletop.

“The fortifications are not to defend against any further invasion from Amata, they won’t venture from their borders any time soon.”

“You believe Rheged may launch another assault?” Percival guessed.

“I believe we should prepare for that eventuality, yes.”

Leon looked doubtful. “Urien has few allies left. Alined is in no position for Gwynedd to take up arms again. The other kingdoms have declared their loyalty to Camelot.”

“It would please me no end if our recent victories convince Urien to keep peaceably to his own borders, but the man is ambitious. If he can find an advantage to use against us, he’ll take it.”

Leon’s eyes fell on Merlin and an uneasy silence descended that had become common when the two of them were in the same room.

The knight addressed him directly for the first time in months. “The soldiers say you came back from the dead.”

“Leon,” Arthur began warningly.

“No human being can come back from the dead,” Elyan cut in emphatically.

Leon gave Merlin a sympathetic look. “I’m not sure everyone thinks you’re human.”

“Oh.” Merlin replied, trying to suppress the hurt at such a nasty rumour. “I’m not immortal. I wouldn’t even want to be.”

“Some say you transformed into the dragon. Others think you’re the son of the devil and that’s where you get your power. Many believe the king is merely your puppet who does your bidding because he’s afraid of you, and you should be burned at the stake,” Leon continued despite Arthur’s menacing expression.

Gwaine moved threateningly closer but Leon ignored him.

“I know none of that is true,” the First Knight declared.

Gwaine halted.

“I don’t know whether magic is evil but I know you, Merlin, and I know you are definitely not. I’m sorry for doubting that.”

“Thank you.” Merlin felt like he should say more but he could not find the words.

The silence dragged on for another moment before Gwaine spoke up.

“I hadn’t heard the one about transforming into a dragon. That would be a neat trick.”

For a moment a grin relieved Merlin’s serious expression. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Arthur,” Leon added quietly. “Soldiers are a superstitious lot. Some say you cannot lose a battle as long as Merlin is with us, others that having a sorcerer with us will bring us doom unless we purge the evil by burning the magic out. You should know there is also talk about your birth and your mother’s death being the result of sorcery, and that Merlin was the sorcerer.”

Merlin was taken aback. “But I wasn’t even born yet.”

Arthur gave him a grim look. “That fact is not going to get in the way of gossip linking you with every unexplained occurrence in Camelot going back as far as anyone can remember. Thank you, Leon.” The king nodded gratefully at his First Knight. “All of you do what you can do to quell the stories being circulated. We don’t want a repeat of the hysteria my father stirred up before the Purge.”

They each nodded, then Arthur dismissed them. Merlin began to exit the chamber with the knights but the king called him back.

“Merlin, I’m sorry about what people are saying about you.”

Merlin held Arthur’s gaze for a moment before he spoke. “In a way it’s a blessing none of that will be connected with my child.”

“You think you can keep that secret?”

The sorcerer shrugged. “If people don’t think I’m human they won’t be looking for any evidence to the contrary.” Merlin sighed. “I know why the Sarrum hated magic. He feared it, because he and his warriors could train and practice with weapons day in and day out for years on end, build their strength, but magic can be wielded by servants or women or anyone not as strong or as big or as skilful as they are and they would be defenseless. Magic is given as a gift to those the Sarrum thought were undeserving of power; it can be used against strength, against wealth. That’s why those without magic fear those who have it, and those with power fear those who have more.” Merlin looked Arthur in the eye. “For all your strength and skill I really could take you apart with less than one blow.”

His friend regarded him warily. “How much power do you have?”

Merlin smiled. “It’s not just power you know, there is skill and learning involved.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.”

Merlin laughed outright at Arthur’s wry expression. “Besides, you could get lucky and run me through before I had a chance to strike out.”

“Like the Sarrum did when he had you shot,” Arthur said.

Merlin sobered.

“For what it’s worth, Merlin, I understand how it feels to have people walk on eggshells around you, like they’re afraid one wrong word will bring your wrath down on their heads.”

Warmth spread through Merlin. “Thank you.”

“But if you could keep your head down for the next while it would be helpful.”

A wide smile split the sorcerer’s face. “Gaius has been telling me that for years without success.”

~

 

As exhausted as he was when they finally arrived back in Camelot, Merlin returned to the physician’s chambers only to assure Gaius of his safe return and quickly wash away the dust of the road. The sorcerer managed to avoid lengthy questioning by his guardian as to why his shirt had a hole and was encrusted with blood, although he knew Gaius would eventually want to examine the wound the dragon had healed.

Mithian’s exuberant welcome when he arrived in her chambers temporarily distracted him from what he wanted to speak with her about. By the time their kiss ended, Mithian had discovered the damaged shirt and yanked it up to examine his newest scar.

He caught his breath at the distress in her face about yet another brush with death, but as she looked closer at the scar a puzzled expression came over her. “How can a wound like this be so completely healed in such a short span of time?”

“That’s part of what I wanted to speak with you about.” Although he had been thinking for days how to tell her what he wanted to say, Merlin was at a loss as to how to broach the subject of dragonlords. He took Mithian’s hand and led her to the bed, sitting down and drawing her to sit beside him. “When the Sarrum was holding me prisoner,” he began.

Mithian’s face went white with shock and Merlin cursed himself for not being more tactful about that situation.

“It’s all right now, I’m fine,” he said. “I called a friend to help me.” He watched her reaction carefully, afraid to see the same wariness Arthur had shown. “A dragon.”

Mithian was taken aback. “How is that possible?”

“My father was a dragonlord. When he was killed I inherited his gift for speaking with dragons as kin. I had known Kilgharrah – the Great Dragon and the last of his kind as far as we knew then – since I arrived in Camelot, but after my father’s death I became the last dragonlord.”

“The dragon’s magic is how your wound is fully healed?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m glad he was able to help,” Mithian said.

“There is something else I should explain. The dragonlord gift is passed from father to son.” Merlin looked meaningfully at her. “If we have a son then on my death he might inherit the same talent, although he won’t know whether or not he has the gift until he faces a dragon.”

“Oh.”

Merlin waited anxiously for what reaction would follow her look of blank surprise.

“Well, I did know I was getting involved with a most extraordinary man.”

The intensity of his relief at her calm reaction caused his hands to tremble.

She looked puzzled again. “Why do you look as though you just confessed to something terrible?”

“I was afraid to tell you, afraid you would look at me like I’m a monster.”

“Merlin, why would you think that?” Mithian sounded more hurt than upset.

“The knights have been giving me odd looks since they realized I talk to dragons and even Arthur thinks I’ve been consorting with the enemy.” Merlin looked down at his hands. “I know what people are saying about me, the ones who are afraid of me.”

“Merlin.” Mithian took one of his hands in hers. “You must know I pay no attention to those silly rumours. How could you believe I would think differently of you because you have another special gift?”

He laid his other hand on top of hers and squeezed but he did not look up at her because he was embarrassed to let her see how his eyes were moist. She put her hand under his chin and gently lifted his head until he met her gaze.

“Nothing you could tell me and nothing anyone else has to say is going to change how I feel about you. I’m glad you are back safe.”

Mithian wrapped her arms around him and kissed him and Merlin was glad to be alive and home.


	9. Autumn, Fourth Year of Arthur’s Reign

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for every kudos and comment - they are much appreciated.

Gwen knelt to reverently place the bouquet of small, white flowers on the pile of stones which marked her father’s grave. He had always appreciated her efforts to pick fresh flowers and have bunches of them around their home; she hoped he could still appreciate the gesture. Elyan placed a hand on her shoulder as he stood behind her. A slight breeze ruffled the blossoms, a hint of a possible storm in the warm air.

Because Tom died a criminal accused of consorting with sorcerers, Gwen had been forced to bury him in an isolated spot secretly assisted by Arthur in defiance of King Uther’s command to “let him rot.” They had placed Tom’s grave in a small clearing of knee-high grass with a view of the White Mountains in the distance, although the view was obscured now by distant clouds. It was surrounded by dense thicket on three sides and a steep cliff on the fourth and was secluded from the many well-travelled paths around the city. Despite its isolation, it was close to Camelot and Elyan had every reason to believe they would be perfectly safe as long as he accompanied the queen so they could share their grief in private.

“Even after all these years, I still miss him,” Gwen said quietly.

Elyan gave her shoulder a squeeze. “He was a good father.” He swallowed a pang of guilt for having abandoned his father and sister so long ago after that last fight with Tom. His father never understood Elyan’s desire for more than the life of a blacksmith, how he had chafed at the responsibilities that chained him to Camelot. Gwen had always done her best to mediate between father and son but, in the end, Elyan saw no other choice than to leave. He had not been there when his father died, had not even known until months later. And even then he had left Gwen to shoulder it all alone.

But he was with her now. “I’m glad we came.”

“So am I.” Gwen got to her feet. She turned to face her brother and took both his hands in hers. “He’d be proud of you, not just because you’re a knight, but because of the man you’ve become.”

“I don’t think so,” Elyan replied regretfully.

Tom had wanted so much for his son to take over his trade. Elyan considered himself moderately skilled as a blacksmith, but he had no desire to make his living over the heat of a forge, eyes burning from smoke and drips of sweat. Gwen gave him a sympathetic look and hugged him before they returned to their horses.

As they rode slowly through the last bit of forest which separated the grave site from a more well-travelled road, both their mounts shied at the same moment. Elyan calmed his dancing horse as he scanned the ground to see what had spooked the animal, but all he saw was an insubstantial mist which quickly dissipated. His head snapped up to see that Gwen’s horse had bolted and she was already out of sight among the trees. He spurred his mount to gallop after her.

Elyan breathed a sigh of relief when his sister’s streaming brown braids and blue cloak came into view only a short ways ahead of him. Then his eyes opened wide in horror when she was yanked from her horse as if by an invisible hand and thrown roughly to the wooded ground. He winced as she landed, hoping she was not injured in the fall.

The knight reined in hard and leapt to the ground to kneel beside Gwen, relieved beyond measure to find she was breathing although her eyes were closed. A footfall behind him warned of someone’s approach and he drew his sword as he spun to his feet before he froze. Cold chills crawled up his spine.

The sorceress stood with a malevolent smirk marring her otherwise beautiful features. A hood covered her tangled dark hair and her black clothing was tattered. Even as the knight lifted his sword, the weapon was torn from his grasp at only a gesture from Morgana. It hovered in the air, then the blade spun slowly to point directly at his throat.

Every possible response – short sword, dagger, physical assault with his bare hands – raced through Elyan’s mind only to be discarded the moment he thought of it. A sense of furious helplessness overwhelmed him at his inability to protect his sister.

Morgana smiled coldly. “You might still be able to save her.” The sorceress tipped her head to the side. “If you deliver Emrys to me.”

Panic tinged the helplessness. Elyan had no idea who she was referring to, but the depth of her madness made him despair of convincing her of his ignorance. “I have never heard of such a person.”

“Then you had best find someone who has.” Her smile vanished. “Have Arthur return here two hours before sundown with Emrys. My associate will escort them to me.”

Before Elyan could formulate a reply, Morgana clenched her fist and executed a throwing motion. He felt himself yanked from his feet and tossed aside like a twig.

~

 

Gwen blinked several times, trying to erase the bright spots floating in front of her eyes. She became aware of a pounding headache at the same time as she felt a sharp rock poke into her side. The smell of damp earth filled her nostrils and she lifted a hand to brush something from her cheek only to discover her hands were bound.

“Good morning, my lady.”

Panic spread through Gwen the moment she recognized the voice and realized Morgana was kneeling beside her to stroke her cheek. The queen bolted upright, eyeing her former mistress and friend with distrust. Her eyes darted around, finally coming to rest on Elyan lying unmoving on the grass not far away.

“No, he’s not dead,” Morgana’s cold voice cut across Gwen’s worst fear. “I need him to deliver my message. But we can’t wait here or Arthur would find you too soon.”

A length of rope was fastened to Gwen’s tied hands. She watched, numb with shock, as Morgana mounted her horse and tugged on the rope. Without question, Gwen stumbled to her feet.

~

 

When Elyan regained consciousness there was no sign of Morgana or Gwen, although the queen’s horse was grazing beside his own nearby. He searched the ground. A set of hoofprints headed away from Camelot; a single rider with someone walking, or being dragged, behind. Elyan glanced at the sky, estimating the time until sundown and how long it would take to return to Camelot and speak with the king. Then he considered telling Arthur his wife had been kidnapped from under the knight’s nose and wondered whether facing Morgana might be less dangerous.

The decision was made when the trail he was following abruptly ended as if it had been erased. Elyan glanced again at the sun’s position in the cloud-filled sky. He mounted and rode as hard as he could for Camelot.

~

 

When Morgana finally stopped her horse and dismounted, Gwen sank to the forest floor, exhausted. Morgana tossed the long rope at the queen’s feet.

“What do you want with me?” Gwen did not try to disguise the terror she felt.

Morgana smiled and Gwen’s stomach lurched.

“I thought we might play a little game,” Morgana responded sweetly.

“A game?”

“Find out just how much Arthur loves you. We’ll see whether Arthur chooses you or that powerful sorcerer who has been aiding him to steal my throne.”

Gwen simply stared.

“Oh, don’t look so worried, I’m certain he’ll choose you.” Morgana’s saccharine tone was somehow more frightening than her usual venomous snarl.

“It won’t work.”

“You underestimate his feelings.”

“He’s not stupid,” Gwen said forcefully.

“We’ll see.”

“He knows you took me, he knows it’s a trap.”

“He does,” Morgana said. “But he’ll still come.”

The certainty in her voice sent a shiver up Gwen’s spine, knowing it was the truth.

The sound of someone approaching caught Morgana’s attention. Gwen followed the direction of Morgana’s gaze to see a young man wearing a dark cloak over simple peasant garb and carrying a roll of cloth and a basket. He looked at Morgana for instruction.

“Daegal, thank you, I’m sure the queen is starved. You can lay the food out here.”

Gwen stared in disbelief as the young man proceeded to spread the blanket he had carried on the ground between the two women before he unpacked the basket. Her eyes grew even wider at the array of cold meat, bread, cheese, and fruit set before her. Then the young man produced a flask of wine which he added to the feast.

“Please my lady,” Morgana gestured to the food as though inviting an honoured guest to join her. “Eat. Food always makes me feel better. Here.” She dished up a slice of cold pork with a hunk of cheese to hand to Gwen.

The queen merely stared at the food without taking it.

“Would you prefer some chicken?” Morgana asked solicitously.

Gwen checked the position of the sun, a bright spot behind the grey clouds. It had been mid-morning when she and Elyan began their return journey to Camelot; the sun was now past its zenith, so it had been a few hours since her capture and even longer since breakfast. But she could not trust Morgana. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because we’re friends,” was the calm reply. Morgana helped herself to a handful of strawberries and popped several in her mouth.

Still Gwen could not accept hospitality from someone she knew to be a mortal enemy who had kidnapped her for an unknown purpose.

“I spent two years living in darkness, chained to a wall at the bottom of a pit,” Morgana spat. “I would have sold my soul for someone to show me kindness such as this.”

“Whatever twisted game you’re playing, I want no part of it.”

“Then I leave you to your own solitary company, my lady.” The respectful title sounded more like a term of derision. Morgana got to her feet, then with a smile of satisfaction at Gwen’s fear she mounted her horse.

Gwen did not relax until the sound of hoofbeats faded into the distance. But as soon as Morgana’s stifling presence had gone, Gwen found her apprehension mounting again at what the would-be queen was planning.

“The food is safe, my lady,” came a boy’s voice.

Gwen stiffened in fear at the reminder that Morgana’s henchman was watching her. He must be her guard, yet he did not appear to be a hardened killer and he had seemed uneasy in Morgana’s presence. The poorly-dressed boy had likely welcomed a few coins without asking too many questions about what he was being paid to do. He was thin and Gwen wondered when he had last eaten. Probably the young man had sampled the food it had been his job to transport, but he would not have dared to eat too much.

“Then please,” Gwen said. “Help yourself.”

The boy regarded her in astonishment for a moment.

“Really,” she encouraged. “I find I can eat very little in this situation.” She indicated her bound hands.

The boy gave her bonds a regretful look. “I can’t untie you.”

“I understand,” Gwen said, hiding her disappointment. “Daegal, is it?”

He looked surprised again. “Yes, my lady.”

“Well, Daegal, please help yourself.”

The young man hesitated for another moment but he licked his lips as he eyed the food spread before him. Finally he crouched down on the far side of the blanket from her and tore off a hunk of bread. At her encouragement he helped himself to more food, eating quickly as though it might be taken away from him as unexpectedly as it had been offered.

“Daegal, do you know who I am?” Gwen asked when the sound of chewing began to slow.

He swallowed before he looked up slowly. “Yes, my lady. You’re the queen.”

“Then you know the king would reward you handsomely if you returned me to him.”

A frightened look came over the boy and he shrank back as though the food had come with a price he was unwilling to pay. “I would not dare to cross the Lady Morgana.”

Gwen sighed. “No, I understand completely how dangerous that would be.”

For a few minutes they sat in silence and then the boy glanced at her uncomfortably. “Is there anything I can get for you, my lady?”

“If you cannot free me, then perhaps you could talk to me, just to keep my mind from dwelling on … well, on whatever Morgana has planned.”

“What would you like me to say?”

“You could tell me about yourself, your family.”

A dark look crossed the boy’s face. “I don’t matter.”

Gwen frowned. “We all matter.”

For a moment Daegal simply stared at her. “My mother is dead and my father was thrown in prison for trying to protect her.”

Gwen gave him a puzzled look.

The boy regarded her cautiously before he continued in a low voice. “My mother had magic and Uther executed her for it. My father tried to stop the soldiers from dragging her from our home. I never saw him again.”

It was a story Gwen had heard often, although such tales never failed to arouse her sympathies for the innocent victims left to mourn. “I am sorry.”

“Is it true, then,” he asked tentatively, “that it’s no longer a crime to have magic?”

“Yes, it’s true,” Gwen answered. “Nor would anyone hold it against you that your mother did.”

“Then could I –” Daegal began but he paled and leapt to his feet at the sound of returning hoofbeats.

The boy took up his previous post as her guard as she twisted around, a feeling of dread overwhelming her at the sight of Morgana returning. Gwen’s dismayed expression must have pleased her former mistress because the dark-haired sorceress gave a cold smile which did not touch her eyes.

“I hope you did not miss me too much, my lady. I fear our time together is quickly coming to an end.” Malevolence replaced the false smile. Morgana reached out a fist and closed it on empty air as though choking someone.

Gwen gasped and clawed at her throat, suddenly unable to draw in air.

Morgana waited only until the dark-skinned woman had slumped to the ground before releasing her magical chokehold. Then she knelt beside the unconscious queen and grasped her jaw in a rough grip to pour a dark liquid down her throat.

Daegal swallowed his horror along with any sign of his fear as the sorceress got to her feet and turned to face him.

“It is time to meet our guests. You know where to bring them.”

“Yes, my lady,” he replied.

~

 

Merlin’s chest tightened when Elyan related his story. The knight stood rigidly, shoulders back as he faced the king in the throne room, Merlin standing beside him. The sorcerer glanced at Arthur’s pale features to see the king clench his hands on the arms of his chair.

“And you were unable to track them?” Arthur demanded.

The knight shook his head helplessly. “The trail disappeared as though it had been erased. Do you know who Emrys is, Sire?” Elyan asked desperately.

Arthur gritted his teeth. “Yes, I think I do.”

“If you tell me where to find him, I’ll take him to the meeting. It’s not safe for you to get near Morgana. Besides, this is my fault.”

The knight’s tortured expression seemed to affect the king, although he probably agreed Elyan should never have allowed the sorceress to ambush them.

“Gwen raised me.” Elyan’s eyes were fixed on the king, pleading for understanding that he had done everything in his power to protect his sister. “I don’t know what I’d be without her.”

“It was only a matter of time until Morgana struck again,” Arthur reassured Elyan with a heavy sigh. “But to attack Guinevere …”

Merlin was certain the king was thinking that if he had been there Gwen would be safe when the sorcerer knew neither of them could have held off Morgana. But he could have. It was his fault Gwen was in danger, he should have been there.

“Where will Morgana be waiting?” Merlin questioned.

Elyan looked at him. “She said her associate would be at the place where we were attacked to take us to Morgana.”

“Then you’ll lead me there.”

The knight regarded him with a half-hopeful, half-doubtful expression. “What about Emrys?”

Merlin smiled. “I am Emrys.”

Arthur regarded at him closely. “What is this about? What is Morgana after?”

With a resigned sigh, Merlin launched into the explanation he had known he would have to give sooner or later. “When Morgana released the Dorocha, when she tore the veil between the worlds, she would have seen the Cailleach.” He glanced at Arthur whose brow had furrowed. “The gatekeeper to the spirit world; she was the one waiting when we arrived on the Isle of the Blessed to heal the veil. I saw her, too, the night Morgana performed the ritual. The Cailleach called me and she used the name Emrys.” Merlin wondered if he should explain more about that name, but the king indicated he should get on with the story. “According to Alator, the Cailleach made a prophecy to Morgana, that Emrys would be her destiny and her doom.”

“Her doom?” Arthur asked heavily without questioning who Alator was. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Merlin ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know for certain, but I presume it means that at some point I will kill Morgana.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from Elyan.

“Since then, Morgana has been attempting to discover who Emrys is and I have been doing everything possible to hide from her that I have magic and that Emrys is me.”

“Why? Why not face her?” Arthur asked.

“Do you know what it feels like to be destined to kill someone? Someone who was once a friend?” Merlin stared at Arthur. “If it was in your power, would you kill her?”

The king did not answer immediately, but when he did his tone was steady. “Morgana and I were close, we grew up together, we loved each other like the brother and sister we didn’t know we were. But she has since become a traitor who would uncaringly slaughter my people and anyone else in her way. She allowed her bitterness over our father’s disavowal of her to control her and has demonstrated an eagerness to kill me. When I look into her eyes there is nothing left of the girl I cared for, only madness. Yes, I would kill her.”

Merlin dropped his gaze. Then he felt Arthur’s hand on his shoulder and looked up to see king standing beside him.

“I know how you felt about her,” Arthur said.

Merlin shrugged. “She had magic,” he answered.

“That was the reason for the flowers?” Arthur stepped back, surprise written across his features. “You knew, you knew long before she made her first move to take the throne. That’s why things were so different between you two, like you were enemies instead of friends. Why didn’t you alert us to her changed loyalties?”

“Uther would never have taken my word over hers,” Merlin said. “I knew where I stood, and where she stood. Even you would not have believed me.”

Arthur opened his mouth to refute that assertion before doubt crossed his face.

“Nor could I tell you how I knew some of the things I knew without revealing …” Merlin hesitated but Arthur gave him an understanding look.

“That you had magic,” he finished. “Yet you chose to remain loyal to Camelot and Morgana chose to ally herself with Morgause against our father and against me.” Arthur closed his eyes briefly. “Why didn’t she trust me? I could have helped her. Surely she couldn’t believe I would harm her for having magic?”

“It’s not you Arthur. There were others better placed to help Morgana who failed her.”

The king looked at Merlin sharply. “It was her decision, her choice,” Arthur said. “Even now it’s her choice to continue this relentless quest for the throne she believes Uther denied her by not admitting she was his daughter. She chose this path.”

Merlin was heartened by the lack of blame he read in Arthur’s eyes.

“She’s completely mad,” Arthur said.

“And she has Gwen,” Elyan solemnly reminded them.

A pained look crossed Arthur’s face. “I lost Guinevere once before.”

Merlin held out his hand to the king. “You’re not going to lose her. You’re not,” he added more forcefully. “We will find her, I swear. We’ll bring her home.”

Arthur grasped the proffered arm and some of the fear drained from his expression.

 

Merlin returned to the physician’s chambers only long enough to don clothing appropriate to be out in the autumn chill, but before he could leave the workroom the door opened to reveal Gaius standing in the entrance. The elderly man took in the travelling clothes and the urgency Merlin knew was written across his face and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

Merlin froze where he stood. “Morgana kidnapped Gwen. We need to rescue her.”

A worried frown creased the old man’s brow. “How will you find them?”

Knowing Gaius could read him like a book, Merlin hesitated briefly. “She assigned a place and time to meet with us, and Emrys.”

The blood drained from the physician’s face and he put out a hand to catch himself from falling. “You cannot let her know who you are, Merlin.”

The young man took Gaius’ arm and led him to the nearest bench so he could take a seat. Then Merlin looked his guardian in the eye although his tone was gentle. “I won’t let anyone die to keep the secret, Gaius. Besides, it’s only a matter of time. The more people who know I have magic, the more likely word will reach Morgana and then she’ll realize.”

The old physician was aware of the truth of his words, as much as he might like to deny it.

“I’ll be careful, I promise.”

“Merlin, you are never careful,” Gaius said.

Merlin gave him a wry smile in response and squeezed his arm. “I have to say goodbye to Mithian.”

 

Mithian’s delighted smile of welcome when he found her alone in her chambers faded at the expression on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“Morgana is holding Gwen hostage.”

“What has she demanded in exchange for the queen’s life?” Mithian’s left hand massaged her right wrist.

“The sorcerer Emrys.”

Mithian wore a puzzled expression before horrified comprehension dawned. “You – she’s trying to remove you from protecting Arthur.”

“I won’t let her hurt Arthur or Gwen. And I won’t allow her to destroy Camelot or the kingdom of Albion that Arthur will build. I’ll stop her no matter what.”

She stared at him for a long moment. “You would give your life to do so, wouldn’t you? Even now.” She laid one hand on her swollen belly.

Regret for how things had to be gripped Merlin more than it ever had before. “That’s the reason for my existence: to ensure Arthur and Albion live even if I’m not there to see it.”

“Why do you think your life is worth less than Arthur’s?”

Merlin smiled. “Since I found the purpose for my gifts, I’ve known Arthur would be a great ruler of a great kingdom and when my part was done I would fade from memory.”

“If you were unimportant, why did fate not give Arthur those gifts?”

“I think it would be too much power for one person. Besides, we’re not meant to walk alone; that’s why we have family, friends, people we love.” He cupped her face in his hands.

She reached up to stroke his cheek. “Just remember that you are cherished, not just Arthur, not just Albion.”

A tiny, self-deprecating laugh escaped him at her earnestness, as though the princess really believed he was precious. Then he bent down to kiss her before leaving to meet Arthur and Elyan.

~

 

He could not prevent either Gwen’s husband or brother from accompanying him, but Merlin worried about his ability to protect them all and simultaneously rescue Gwen. Arthur had insisted on coming himself as had Elyan, but the king refused to lead any more of his knights into a danger they could not hope to fight. Merlin was certain Morgana would make an attempt to kill Arthur, in fact it might be her plan to use this ruse to lure him out. Gwen may not even be alive, although Merlin had to trust she was and they would get to her.

The three of them arrived at the edge of the thicket to find a young man in a dark cloak waiting patiently. He nearly blended into the deep shadows beneath the trees, his cloak wrapped tightly against the chill evening breeze. His eyes darted around, but whether he was afraid of being arrested as a criminal or simply on edge until his dealings with Morgana were finished, Merlin could not tell.

The boy glanced around again as if searching for someone else, then he looked inquiringly at the king. Arthur indicated the young man should lead them to Morgana, so with a final glance over his shoulder the boy gestured at them to follow him. They tethered their horses and followed on foot deeper into the thicket. The clouds obscuring the sun made it seem later than it was and the ground beneath the trees was hard to see in the dim light.

The young man led them back to the tiny clearing which housed the shrine to Tom. Elyan averted his gaze from the flowers Gwen had placed there earlier. The boy stopped beside the marker and waited.

Morgana must have been watching them from the deeper darkness beneath the trees because when they arrived her venomous words cut through the stillness of the early evening as she stepped forward. “Hello, dear brother.”

Arthur stiffened but made no move to grasp his weapon. “Morgana.” He kept his tone neutral, not betraying his fury or his fear.

“It’s been far too long,” she continued sweetly. “I haven’t seen you since you left me under a pile of fallen rock in a collapsed tomb. The work of your pet sorcerer who has been of so much assistance to you of late, I assume.” Her tone grew harder.

“Where is Guinevere, Morgana?” Arthur demanded coolly.

The sorceress smiled cruelly. “I poisoned her.”

At that, Arthur did grasp the hilt of his sword before he could stop himself from making such a futile gesture.

“Now don’t worry, you have time to save her,” Morgana said. “If you give me what I want, I’ll take you to Gwen and give you the antidote.” Her venomous glare shifted to Merlin. “That’s the usual bargain, isn’t it?”

Merlin felt the barb hit home. His conscience pricked him at the vindictive accusation in Morgana’s eyes, condemning him for bartering her life to Morgause.

“Why are you doing this, Morgana?” Arthur demanded. “I have made the kingdom safe for magic, isn’t that what you wanted?”

The look she gave him was icy. “Now you would welcome me back as a beloved sister, is that right?”

“You would have to answer for your treason, for the lives of innocent citizens.”

“Uther never answered for his crimes!” she said furiously. “As he never acknowledged me even though I’m his rightful heir.”

Arthur did not waste his breath to dispute her assertion. “He treated you as a beloved daughter.”

“If I behaved as he wanted, if I was exactly what he demanded I be. Not if I questioned him or his deeds. But you – you could do no wrong. The sun rose and set in you.”

“What do you want, Morgana?”

“The old man,” she demanded, a flicker of madness in her wild-eyed stare.

For a moment Arthur was puzzled. Morgana’s eyes seemed genuinely to be searching the area as though seeking someone.

“Emrys is not an old man,” Merlin said.

The sorceress flicked her gaze to him briefly before she fixed her attention back on the king. “I heard he has many faces, but you know who I mean.”

Merlin stepped forward resolutely. “Emrys is right here, Morgana.”

For a moment it appeared she did not believe him, then a look of absolute astonishment caused her mouth to drop open. The shock was replaced with a fury so vehement he was afraid she had lost all sense of reason. Her anger erupted in an outpouring of rage that took the physical form of a flaming sword hurtling at him so swiftly he barely had time to raise a shield.

When the blaze fizzled harmlessly at Merlin’s outstretched hand, Morgana grew even more enraged. She screamed. Everyone clapped their hands over their ears and the trees bent as if a gale was blowing; the flowers Gwen had left on her father’s grave were whirled away and the stones rattled. Daegal dropped to his knees, hands still covering his ears, while Arthur and Elyan braced themselves against the tempest.

Abruptly the scream stopped. Morgana stood glaring at Merlin who returned her accusatory scowl calmly.

“You knew, you knew exactly how afraid I felt. I begged you to tell me the truth, but you just stood there, pretending to care,” she spat. “Pretending to be so helpful, telling me where to find the Druids, all the while refusing to tell me the truth.”

Guilt threatened to overwhelm him but he reminded himself of all she had done since. “I am sorry, Morgana, but I couldn’t trust you.”

“Sorry?” she shrieked. “Sorry does not begin to make up for abandoning me, for letting that old fool lie to me.”

“Gaius did what he thought best for you.”

“He didn’t understand. But you did,” she snarled.

“I wished to help you, but not in the way you wanted. I would never have helped you overthrow Uther and I won’t allow you to hurt Gwen.”

A look of satisfaction stole over Morgana’s face that caused a shiver of fear to crawl up his spine in a way her fury had not.

“But she will die if you don’t act quickly. The poison is working its way through her now, causing unimaginable pain.” Morgana tipped her head to the side, her dark tangle of hair swinging in a clump. “Unless you do as I say, you won’t find her in time, and even if you did I am the one who knows what poison it is and I have the remedy.”

“Then tell us what to do. Let’s end this,” Merlin said.

Her smile spread wider, twisting her beautiful features. “What I ask is simple, just even. Poetic justice.”

“What is it, Morgana?” Arthur demanded impatiently.

She held out a hand towards Merlin and opened her clenched fingers to reveal a small vial. “You take the poison.”

Elyan gasped but Merlin had expected a proposal like it. She would think it fair and just to poison him as he had done to her.

Morgana saw that he understood. “It isn’t even a trick. You’ll know exactly what you’re doing and it will be your choice.”

“If I do, how do I know you’ll take Arthur to Gwen and give him the antidote? That you will let either of them return alive?”

“Don’t worry, this is a slow-acting poison. You have hours to ensure I kept my side of the bargain before the poison eats away at you.” She smiled again despite the coldness in her eyes. “You might even have all night.” She turned her smile on Arthur. “If you’re thinking you can give the remedy to both of them, you should know there is only enough for one dose.”

Merlin saw Arthur’s face fall.

“So you can choose who to save, your wife or your sorcerer. I won’t interfere.”

A cold fury to match his sister’s touched Arthur’s eyes.

She turned back to Merlin. “Take heart. It’s better to die in a night than be trapped in a living grave. At least you will not be shackled and there is light; you can move, you can see.”

A memory of how it felt to be chained in darkness, cut off from his power, his own magic causing him pain, sliced through Merlin. Again he experienced a sliver of empathy for what Morgana had suffered. “The Sarrum is dead now.”

“Yes, I heard Arthur had defeated him. Slaughtered his warriors and drove them back to their homeland. So you had someone to rescue you, even though you’re a worthless servant? But no one came to save me,” she said bitterly.

“We didn’t know then, believe me.”

“Is that so? Perhaps it’s true.” She raised her hand higher, the small vial on her open palm.

Holding her gaze, Merlin reached out to take the poison.

“No,” Arthur protested.

Morgana made a show of consulting the sun’s position in the sky. Despite the clouds, the sky was visibly darker in the east. “Gwen doesn’t have much time.”

Merlin kept his eyes fixed on Morgana, silently communicating that he would ensure she kept her word to lead them to Gwen in time to save her, as he removed the wax stopper and tipped the contents into his mouth. It tasted vile but no worse than most of Gaius’ concoctions. As soon as he swallowed, he ordered Morgana to lead them to Gwen.

“Of course, follow me,” she said with a satisfied smile.

Merlin stayed close behind her, alert for any sign of treachery. Arthur and Elyan followed after and the boy trailed them at a distance. Merlin studiously ignored the worried looks on the faces of the king and his knight.

They had not walked far when Morgana lifted a leafy branch out of the way to show the remains of a picnic spread on the ground and Gwen lying prone beside the food. Her red gown and blue cloak were twisted as if she had writhed on the ground, her hair was plastered damply to her face, and bile stained her lips. She whimpered but did not open her eyes.

Arthur and Elyan both rushed forward to drop to their knees on either side of her, their faces drawn. Elyan untied her hands.

Arthur laid a hand on her brow, then shot a glare at Morgana. “Where is the remedy?”

She held up a vial.

Merlin glanced at Gwen for only an instant but in that moment Morgana smashed the vial on the ground and, cackling insanely, disappeared in a swirling rush of wind.

“Morgana!” Merlin cried in fury and alarm but it was too late.

“No!” Arthur shouted. He turned a horrified gaze on Merlin before staring down at Guinevere as she moaned and thrashed.

Desperately, Merlin knelt among the wreckage of the broken vial, carefully examining each piece. The neck of the container contained a few precious drops of the antidote; perhaps with help it would be enough.

His face pale but determined, Merlin nudged Elyan aside and crouched beside Gwen with the shard in hand. He held her jaw steady to tip the droplets onto her tongue, then closed his eyes as he laid one hand on her feverish forehead and one on her stomach. “The poison is deep within her.” When he opened his eyes Arthur was staring at him, his eyes moist. Resolutely, Merlin concentrated every scrap of power he could summon, speeding and strengthening the healing properties of the remedy, helping it fight the poison that was choking the life from Gwen.

When he had done what he could, Merlin took his hands away and stared down at Gwen. Her only response was another moan of pain. His heart sank; either there had not been enough residue left of the antidote or his healing spell had not worked. He looked at Arthur in despair.

Then Gwen’s eyes fluttered open. “Arthur?”

“Guinevere!”

She shakily reached up a hand and he grasped it tight.

“Gwen?” Elyan grasped her other hand.

“Elyan! Thank God you’re all right!” Her voice was hoarse.

“Me?” he asked in amazement. “Gwen, we thought we’d lost you.”

Her eyes opened wide as she looked at the ring of concerned faces above her, then she slowly sat up. “I was coughing and retching.” She looked down and saw her stained clothes and one hand went to her throat as she coughed again. “Then what happened?”

Arthur looked steadily at Merlin. “Merlin used his magic to save you.”

Gwen twisted so she could see him. “Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you,” Elyan added.

Certain she would recover, Merlin allowed relief to wash over him.

“How did you find me?” Gwen asked weakly.

The other three exchanged a glance.

“Morgana led us here,” Elyan explained, “after Merlin took the poison.”

As the queen turned her horrified gaze on him, Merlin suffered a fit of coughing that doubled him over. He tried to catch his breath but it felt like his throat was closed, like he could not draw in enough air. Another coughing fit racked his lean frame and he put one hand on the ground to brace himself. Flecks of white foam speckled the dirt beside his palm. When he lifted his head, he met three pairs of eyes.

“The remedy, there must be more.” Elyan leapt to his feet and began poking cautiously through the fragments of the vial Morgana had smashed.

Merlin shook his head, aware there was not another drop left among the shattered pieces.

“Merlin, there must be something you can do,” Arthur said.

“If we knew what the poison was,” Merlin was dismayed by how hoarse his voice sounded, “Gaius might be able to make an antidote.”

“It’s henbane, but he won’t have the main ingredient to make a remedy.”

At the sound of the unfamiliar voice they remembered the young man who had led them to Morgana. Daegal seemed alarmed to have the attention of all four so suddenly focused on him.

Arthur rose to his feet and fixed the young man with a scowl. “You know how to make the remedy?”

“I … I work for the man who sold the potions to Morgana,” Daegal admitted with a glance behind him as if looking for an escape route. “I gather ingredients for him and sometimes I help him in his workroom.”

Merlin was wracked by another fit of coughing and Daegal cast a worried look from the sick man to the angry king. Arthur took several steps toward the young man who shrank back.

“Daegal.” Gwen had risen to her feet although she swayed slightly when she did. She stepped in front of her husband. “Can you make an antidote? Do you know where to find what you need?”

“Yes, my lady.”

Gwen gave him an encouraging smile and the boy stood taller. “Would you do it, then, quickly?”

The boy darted into the undergrowth.

Arthur frowned. “How do we know he’s coming back, let alone knows what he’s doing?” The king glanced worriedly at Merlin who could feel beads of sweat standing out on his forehead as he struggled to drag air into his lungs.

“We can trust Daegal,” Gwen said.

“If Arthur hasn’t scared him off,” Merlin croaked feebly before he collapsed in another coughing fit. When he tried to catch his breath he found Arthur and Elyan on either side of him, supporting him as best they could.

“Merlin, thank you for saving Guinevere,” Arthur said.

“Now I’m worried,” the sorcerer rasped. “Arthur is thanking me, that must mean I’m dying.”

“You’re not going to die, Merlin,” the king said. “We still need you.”

Before the dark-haired man could think of a reply he was forced to bend over, retching painfully. After that all four of them fell silent, waiting.

“Elyan,” Arthur ordered abruptly, “ride for Camelot and fetch Gaius. If the boy doesn’t come back, at least the physician may be able to help.”

“I won’t leave Gwen here,” Elyan protested. “We don’t know for sure Morgana is not coming back.”

The king’s head snapped up. “Guinevere is not leaving here without me.”

“I’m not leaving until Daegal comes back.” Despite the weakness in her voice, Gwen’s tone brooked no opposition.

“We don’t know if he is coming back, or if he can help when he does,” Arthur said with a concerned frown. “Elyan has a point, we should all get out of here in case Morgana returns to check on the success of her little ploy.”

“No.” Gwen said. “You heard what Daegal said about Gaius being unable to make a remedy. We cannot risk leaving before the boy returns.”

Arthur stared at Merlin with a tortured expression. “We have no reason to believe that boy was telling the truth.”

Gwen opened her mouth to protest when they heard someone’s approach. Their heads whipped around to see Daegal returning. He had used a large leaf as a bowl and was cradling it in his cupped hands. He hesitated at the four stares all fixed on him, then continued resolutely to where Merlin crouched on the ground. Carefully, Daegal lifted the tincture and held it to Merlin’s lips to tip the contents into his mouth.

As soon as Merlin swallowed, he felt the antidote course through him, battling the effects of the poison. Closing his eyes, Merlin concentrated on the antidote, helping it drain away the toxin that choked his airways. He gulped in air when he felt his throat open up again. A shudder went through him, then he felt his strength returning.

Opening his eyes, he found himself looking into Daegal’s face. “Thank you.”

The boy shrugged. “You saved the lady.”

“Thank you, Daegal,” Gwen said. “You are brave to defy Morgana. You have done well.”

The boy’s cheeks reddened at her praise. “I haven’t done many good things in my life.”

“You’ve done something good now,” Merlin said. “You have a gift.”

Daegal dropped his gaze to the ground and shrugged.

“If Morgana learns you helped us,” Gwen said, “it might not be safe for you to return to your work or your home.” She turned a pleading look on Arthur.

“Guinevere is right. You can come to Camelot with us. I’ll ensure safe passage wherever you choose to go.”

Daegal gave the king an astonished look.

“After all, you did just save the life of my … friend.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows but his throat was too raw to make a suitable remark.

“We should leave.” Elyan said. “Before Morgana comes to check her handiwork.”

“She’ll find out soon enough none of us are dead,” Merlin croaked.

Arthur pinned the sorcerer with a look. “She knows who you are now. She’ll be after you.”

“I’ve thwarted her before. Besides, you’re her main target. And if something were to happen to you …”

“She still has a claim to the throne,” Arthur finished gravely.

“She would need an army to take the city and hold it,” Elyan said.

Merlin did not find that thought comforting.

Arthur grasped hold of Merlin’s arm to drag the younger man to his feet. “Let’s get back to the horses. Guinevere.” The king took his wife’s hand and strode off in the lead, clasping her tightly.

Merlin and Daegal followed and Elyan brought up the rear. As they made their way quickly and cautiously to where the horses were tethered, Merlin looked over at Daegal.

“You said you gathered ingredients and helped the potion-maker in his workroom?” His voice was still hoarse.

The boy gave him a puzzled glance before hesitantly confirming the observation.

“Gaius, the court physician, could use assistance like that.”

Arthur’s head whipped around at the offer. “I will not have a young criminal who allied himself with Morgana working within the citadel, _Mer_ lin.”

“Keeping reckless boys out of trouble is Gaius’ specialty.”

Arthur scowled in response to his friend’s grin.

“He did help us in defiance of Morgana,” Merlin said.

“There’s no place for him to stay in the palace.”

“Actually,” Gwen said, “he could have Merlin’s room in the physician’s chambers, then Gaius could supervise him closely and have him on hand whenever he needs.”

“Wait a minute,” Merlin objected in surprise. “I live there.”

“But you don’t spend your nights there,” Gwen said with a sly smile. “We can find new accommodations for you, someplace more convenient.”

Merlin felt his cheeks grow hot and hid his embarrassment in a cough. Elyan gave him a curious look.

Daegal’s eyes had grown wider as the three discussed his immediate future. The queen fixed him with a penetrating look.

“Would you want to assist the court physician in his duties in Camelot?” she asked.

Daegal stopped walking to stare at her with open-mouthed astonishment before Elyan nudged him to keep going.

“Yes,” the boy managed to gasp. “Yes, I would, my lady. My mother was a healer.”

“Hang on,” Arthur barked.

Daegal appeared intimidated by the king’s frown but both Merlin and Gwen merely gazed at him.

Arthur looked from one to the other of them before throwing up his hands in surrender. “Fine, if Gaius is willing, then fine.” The king marched up to the horses. He snatched the reins of his mount with unnecessary force and received a reproachful whinny in response.

Gwen gave Daegal a reassuring smile. “Gaius will be glad for your help.”

At that moment they heard a warning shriek and felt a gust of wind. Then a blast of dragonfire scorched the area around them causing them to drop the ground in an attempt to seek cover.

When Merlin regained his feet, his eyes met Morgana’s cold stare. He could feel the weight of her fury at his apparent good health, her hate almost palpable. She stood in the cover of the trees at the edge of the small clearing. At the sound of Aithusa’s screech, a triumphant smirk crossed Morgana’s face.

Merlin glanced up at the croaking shriek. Aithusa had banked in the sky and was diving toward them again.

Merlin strode forward to meet her. “Nun de ge dei s'eikein kai emois epe'essin hepesthai!”

His eyes flashed gold and the white dragon squawked as she came to a halt in mid-flight, frantically backpedalling before turning in the air to flap away. It cut at his heart to deal so harshly with her but there was no opportunity at present to do other than send her off.

Merlin’s eyes fixed again on Morgana to see an expression of utter betrayal at the dragon’s retreat.

“Emrys!” she screamed in rage.

Before he could blink she had raised her hand and sent a bolt of lightning at him.

Calmly he reached out and caught it, then sent it back at her. She screeched as she ducked to avoid the bolt. It crashed into a tree behind her in a shower of sparks, briefly lighting the dark forest.

Her shout had apparently been a signal because Merlin saw several armed men break from the tree cover to rush at the group in the clearing. With a sweep of his left arm, Merlin sent several of the men flying backward. Behind him he heard the clash of swords and assumed that Arthur and Elyan had engaged more of their attackers.

Morgana used his momentary distraction to reach out a hand toward Merlin and incant the choking spell “Hilda” had used. She squeezed her fingers together and he felt his throat close, but this time he was familiar with the incantation. Immediately he clenched his fist and was satisfied to see Morgana raise a hand to her own neck.

As black dots began to swim in front of his eyes from lack of air, Merlin saw Morgana sink to her knees. She released her chokehold. He took a deep, gasping breath as his hand instinctively went to his throat, likewise releasing his hold on her.

She stared malevolently at him as she rose slowly to her feet. Then every sword, dagger, and axe the fallen attackers had been carrying came hurtling at him. Merlin held out both arms, his eyes flashed, and the weapons froze in midair. At another word they were sent flying toward Morgana but she merely waved them aside. He heard Gwen cry out behind him but he could not risk breaking eye contact with Morgana. He could only hope Arthur and Elyan were able to defend Gwen and Daegal, both of whom were unarmed, until Merlin could rid them of the threat the sorceress posed.

Merlin began chanting an incantation, hand outstretched, and a whirlwind formed in front of him. The air spun faster and faster, picking up autumn leaves and fallen branches from the grassy clearing.

A look of terrified recognition came over Morgana’s face. Then she raised both hands and released another bolt of lightning which Merlin realized was not aimed at him but instead at those who were behind him. He let the whirlwind fade as he threw his power into raising a shield wide enough to protect the others.

Her lightning hit his shield and flared brightly causing Merlin to raise one arm to cover his eyes. When he looked back at the place Morgana had stood, no one was there. For a brief instant he considered trying to follow her, but he had no idea where she had gone and he had to check on Arthur, Elyan, Gwen, and Daegal. The sounds of fighting behind him had stopped.

Merlin spun around to see Arthur standing solemnly, his bloody sword held loosely at his side. None of the armed attackers were standing, although one or two groaned where they lay. Gwen knelt on the ground, Elyan’s head in her lap, a dark stain seeping through the chain mail covering his chest.

Daegal was crouched beside them, but he had withdrawn his hands from any attempt to save the wounded knight. He looked helplessly at Merlin.

“I’m sorry, Gwen,” Elyan croaked weakly.

“No, you saved me,” Gwen sobbed in response. “Father would be proud of you.”

“And of you. So proud.”

The life went out of Elyan’s eyes and Daegal reached out wordlessly to close them. Gwen sobbed harder, her tears soaking the front of her already-stained gown.

At length, Arthur sheathed his sword and knelt to take her in his arms while Daegal eased the knight’s lifeless form onto the ground.

~

 

When Merlin walked through the door of their chambers just after dark, Gaius breathed an immense sigh of relief. The old man moved to greet his ward with a hug but halted at the somber expression on Merlin’s face.

“Elyan is dead.”

The physician started forward again and Merlin met him halfway to be enfolded in an embrace.

Gaius’ eyes fell on a figure standing on the threshold behind Merlin and he turned a questioning look on his ward.

“Daegal,” Merlin said by way of introduction. He gestured the young man forward. “This is Gaius, the Court Physician. Gaius, Daegal is skilled in herb-gathering and potion-making-assistance which might be of use to you.”

Gaius looked startled at the offer of more help in his daily tasks.

“How do you know the boy has these skills?”

“He brewed an antidote that saved my life.”

“Merlin! What did you do?”

The sorcerer winced at both the tone and the sharp look. “Morgana’s price for Gwen’s life was that I take the same poison she used on Gwen. Henbane.”

His guardian did not waste words pointing out Merlin’s foolishness. “Does she know?” he asked instead.

Merlin nodded. “Morgana knows I’m Emrys.”

A resigned expression slowly replaced Gaius’ worried frown. “Well, it was only a matter of time, I guess.” He turned to the skinny boy standing on the threshold, twisting the hem of a worn dark cloak in nervous fingers. “Daegal, is it?”

The boy nodded.

“You look hungry.” Gaius dished up a bowl of a warm stew and set it on the table.

Daegal hesitated.

“Go on,” Merlin said.

With a glance at the old physician’s compassionate face, Daegal sat and wolfed down the entire bowl of stew seemingly without pausing for breath. It was only once he finished eating that he stammered his appreciation, red-faced, while he stared down at his empty bowl.

Gaius merely chuckled and dished up another helping. “We’ll make you up a bed on the floor until we can find you a permanent place to sleep.”

“Gwen suggested he could have my room.” Merlin paused at the look of utter shock on his guardian’s face. “She thought there might be other accommodations for me … elsewhere in the palace,” he finished awkwardly.

Gaius sighed, the look of surprise fading as he set the refilled bowl in front of Daegal. “I knew this would come sooner or later.”

Merlin reached out to take one of the thin, old hands in his. “Gaius, I’ll be here for you whenever you need me.”

“I know my boy, I know.”


	10. Spring, Fifth Year of Arthur’s Reign

Mithian looked up when Olwyne knocked politely before entering her chamber.

“Are you nearly ready, my lady?” he asked.

“Yes.” She turned back to the mirror and nodded at her maid to continue dressing her hair.

“Where is the child?” Olwyne looked around curiously.

He had been pleased when she told him she had borne a son. Gaius said it was an easy birth but Mithian had not felt the same. Certainly not at the time, although the more she was with her infant the less vividly she recalled the labour to bring him into the world. Gaius’ new assistant, the young man with the dark eyes and gentle hands, had thankfully helped to calm her during the delivery. Merlin’s anxious expression and jittery hovering had done little to ease her nerves.

“Erec was fussing so the nurse took him for a stroll,” Mithian said hastily.

Olwyne appeared puzzled. “But I just saw her in the corridor and the babe was not with her.”

“Perhaps she had one of the maids take him for a moment.”

Mithian glanced around for a distraction. Her husband was twisting the ring on his finger as he often did when he was nervous.

“Are you prepared to spend an entire banquet making small talk with Arthur?”

Olwyne gave her a wry look for her perceptiveness. “You’d think that after a year in your company I would be accustomed to such close contact with our monarch, but I still find him intimidating. I’m the youngest son; I’m not supposed to be dining at the king’s table.”

“You keep telling me your eldest brother sang Arthur’s praises constantly,” Mithian said.

“Yes, but Lucan was a knight. There’s no doubt the king’s knights are devoted to him. Orrin, however, spent every family gathering complaining that King Arthur spent too much time riding patrol or fighting battles instead of at court, and of course my noble brother was quite disgusted at the scandal when the king announced his intention to marry a serving girl.”

“Gwen did the kingdom a favour by marrying Arthur.”

“She should be flattered a man of royal birth condescended to offer her marriage.”

“Her life would have been easier and safer if Arthur had never wanted to marry her.” Mithian met her husband’s eyes in the mirror as he considered her words. “What do _you_ think of Arthur?”

Olwyne hesitated, apparently weighing what to say when he knew she was in the queen’s company daily and the king’s nearly as often. “I do agree with Orrin that King Arthur is off leading his men when he should be here ruling, but it is for precisely that reason the knights follow him so devotedly. He leads his men, he doesn’t send them, and he’s willing to face any danger with them. Or instead of them. There is no doubting his courage.”

The maid put the last touches on Mithian’s dark hair and gave her a questioning look.

Mithian smiled and nodded in approval. “Thank you, Gvynna. Enjoy your evening, I won’t need you again tonight.”

“Thank you, my lady.” The blonde woman gave both lord and lady a respectful bow before she left the room.

Mithian turned to face Olwyne. “Arthur is a good person underneath the arrogance, you know. He wouldn’t retaliate for your honest criticism or hold your personal feelings against you.”

“It is just that …” Olwyne hesitated.

“If there’s anything you want to ask me, I hope you would feel free,” Mithian said.

“Just this change of laws to allow magic to be practiced, and then appointing a sorcerer – his former manservant, no less – to the king’s Council.” Olwyne met her eyes. “You must spend a good deal of time in Merlin’s company as he is always at the king’s side.” He hesitated. “Well, he looks like an ordinary person but they say he’s immortal, that he’s the most powerful sorcerer who ever lived, and his control over the king is absolute.”

“He may be the most powerful sorcerer – I know he faced Morgana herself and defeated her – but he is human.”

For a moment Olwyne searched her face as though wondering if she was being entirely forthright with him.

“There’s no reason to fear him, and he does not have any hold over Arthur other than mutual friendship and trust.”

At the earnestness in her voice Olwyne visibly relaxed. She wondered how much of his discomfort had been nervousness about Merlin’s close proximity at the king’s table more than the king himself.

“You would know better than I.” Olwyne offered her his arm. “We should go, my lady, we’re late now.”

As Mithian stood to take his outstretched arm, they were both startled by a baby’s fitful cry followed by Merlin’s arrival through the servant’s entrance. He stopped in surprise that they were still in the chamber.

Olwyne likewise froze in astonishment to see the sorcerer standing with a baby in his arms. Olwyne looked from Merlin to Mithian and understanding dawned in his face at the deep flushes on their faces.

Erec gave another fitful cry to which Merlin responded with a soothing coo, rocking the baby gently. The child quieted, leaving the room in a tense silence.

Then Olwyne smiled widely at Mithian. “Well, my lady, as I said, you would know him better than I.”

Mithian smiled back at her husband. “Give me a moment.”

“Of course.” Still smiling, Olwyne retreated to wait at the chamber door with his back to them for the privacy it afforded.

Mithian ignored Merlin’s curious look that indicated he knew they had been discussing him and stooped to give her son a quick kiss. “Is he going to settle down and sleep?”

Merlin nodded. “He just needed to be walked. As soon as he’s asleep I’m going to lay him down.”

“Then we’ll see you when you get to the banquet.”

“What –” Merlin began to whisper. His eyes flicked to Olwyne who stood patiently facing the door, but he broke off when Mithian kissed him.

“I’ll let Arthur know you were unavoidably delayed by a most important duty,” she said with a wink.

“Saving the kingdom from a wailing infant?”

“Precisely.” With another peck on the baby’s cheek, Mithian joined Olwyne.

He again offered her his arm. With a final glance back at Merlin, who was absorbed in ensuring that Erec stayed quiet as he was laid in his cradle, Olwyne led Mithian out.

He gave his wife an amused look as they made their way down the corridor. “I thought it was the king.”

Mithian paused and laid a hand on his arm. “I should have told you, I’m sorry.”

“You had a right to your privacy,” Olwyne said. “Had I truly wanted to know, it would have been an easy matter to station a spy outside your door.” He frowned suddenly. “Unless he really can change into a bird and fly in your window?”

“No,” Mithian answered, holding back a smile.

“He is human, then?”

“Of course.”

“So he doesn’t talk to dragons?”

“Actually, he does,” she admitted.

For a moment Olwyne stared at her. Then he shook his head and they continued down the hall.

~

Mithian steered her mount through the busy main gate. A few people glanced her way, curious that a noblewoman would leave the city alone, but Mithian ignored their speculative looks. She was not going far and there had been no sign of Morgana all winter. Camelot patrols circled the area of her destination regularly and there was plenty of traffic on the road to discourage foul play.

The princess rode further from the crowded city, then she turned from the well beaten track. She guided her horse at a slow walk through the tree cover, headed for the pretty but secluded spot near the brook. The days were warming and the trees which had shed their leaves in winter were already budding, although the ground remained wet from early morning frost. The air smelled of damp greenery. She ducked under a low branch and brought her horse to a stop.

Merlin was waiting for her. The devoted smile that lit up his face as soon as he saw her caused a warm fluttering in her stomach. He moved closer to help her dismount and she swung sideways to place both her hands on his shoulders and let him lift her down. He did not release her when her feet touched the ground, instead he wrapped his arms around to press her closer. In response, she slid her hands across his back into his hair and brought his mouth down to meet hers as she leaned up to kiss him.

“I brought bread and meat and cheese for a picnic lunch,” she said breathlessly when the kiss ended.

“Good,” he replied without taking his eyes off her face before he bent to kiss her again.

When that kiss finally ended she loosened her embrace and leaned slightly away. “We should continue this somewhere more private.”

He gave her a tender look and took her hand to lead her into the thicket that sheltered the brook. As soon as Merlin moved away from her but before he stepped deeper into the sheltering trees, the sound of an arrow biting into flesh was followed by a sudden hush as if every animal and bird had ceased all movement.

Mithian froze in horror when Merlin’s leg buckled under him. A disturbing amount of blood poured from his wound and Mithian realized the arrow had struck his upper leg where the blood flowed most strongly. She sank to her knees beside him, trying to keep him partially upright. She had nothing to use as a weapon, no way to defend either of them, even if she could have seen the assailant.

Merlin raised one hand as though he would shield them both, then his eyes closed and he went limp. Mithian came to the horrible realization that the only reason he would lose consciousness so quickly was that the arrow tip must have been drugged.

The moment he slumped to the ground, Mithian heard riders approach. Dimly she understood they must have followed her, although she could not fathom why thieves would be this close to the city or who else would have done this. Surely Morgana would simply have used magic, she would have no need of arrow or sedative.

Mithian looked up to see three men on horseback dressed in plain leathers with nothing to identify their allegiance. They all wore swords but none carried a bow or quiver so there must be at least one more attacker still concealed. The princess clenched the hilt of her small eating dagger which was all the protection she had.

“We mean you no harm,” one of the men said, his eyes on the knife in her hand.

Mithian guessed he was the leader by his position slightly in front of the other two. He seemed vaguely familiar although she could not think why.

He gestured, and both his companions dismounted to approach the princess where she crouched beside Merlin’s prone form. Blood pooled beneath him and soaked her skirt.

She grasped the dagger tighter as she leapt to her feet and the two men hesitated, looking back at their leader. He gave them a sign as he dismounted and the three men spread out before approaching Mithian from different directions.

She tried to watch all three, conscious of the archer hidden from her, but as she raised her dagger against the closest assailant she felt herself grabbed from behind. She struggled uselessly against the tight hold, cutting a shallow slice across the arm of her captor before her knife was taken.

Mithian steeled herself for assault or kidnapping or whatever was to come, but to her surprise the two companions of the man holding her ignored her to grasp Merlin’s inert form and toss him roughly onto one of the horses. They both mounted and the man holding the princess abruptly released her unharmed to mount his own horse.

“No!” Mithian shouted when she realized they intended to leave with their victim, blood oozing where the arrow protruded from his leg. She looked around helplessly, wishing in vain for her hunting crossbow, and finally started toward them barehanded with an unformed thought of simply dragging Merlin away from them.

Looking slightly alarmed at her advance, the three men wheeled their horses around and galloped away. Mithian heard another rider join them before they were out of earshot. Panicked, she whirled and ran to her own mount.

Minutes later, eyes fixed on their tracks in the rough ground, Mithian barely pulled up short before she left the cover of the trees and rode into the midst of a half dozen men. They were gathered at the entrance to a cave a little further ahead. None looked in her direction or gave any indication they were aware she had followed them.

The four men who had taken Merlin had met with several more men at the hideaway. They did not seem overly concerned about pursuit, no doubt assuming she would not yet have alerted anyone to the abduction.

At that thought, Mithian realized she would have been wiser to flag down a Camelot patrol who could easily have followed the men’s trail rather than chasing after them herself, alone and unarmed.

Two men came out of the cave to haul Merlin’s unconscious body unceremoniously into the hideout and Mithian gasped in shock at the soldiers’ garb. Her eyes darted from one of them to the next as most of the other men followed the kidnappers into the darkness of the cave, leaving only two outside to take up posts as sentries. She was not mistaken, the soldiers who had taken Merlin had worn Nemeth’s colours, and at least one of those who had been waiting inside the cave was wearing the insignia of the royal household.

Mithian berated herself for not having recognized the fletching on the arrow. Angrily, the princess straightened before she urged her horse forward at a steady pace directly toward the two startled sentries. She saw recognition in their faces at her appearance, although neither was familiar to her, saw them exchange a bewildered glance before they both bowed their heads in respect.

The princess dismounted before either could move to assist her and marched up to the cave entrance. The soldiers looked as though they had been instructed not to let anyone pass but could not decide if such an order included their own royalty. One guard opened his mouth. Mithian gave him a threatening stare and did not break stride as she marched into the cave.

~

The first thing Merlin sensed was rough, damp rock under his left cheek and a feeling of cold. The next thing he was conscious of was a burning pain in his right leg and an intense sleepiness urging him to let it take him back into oblivion. He gritted his teeth and pushed the pain and the drowsiness aside to focus on one thought: Mithian. Mithian was in danger.

He opened his eyes wide; it was dark but there was a light not far from where he lay on his side. He lifted his hand slowly to probe the spot on his leg that burned in pain. His fingers brushed an arrow shaft. Even his gentle probing caused a stab of agony but at least the pain kept him awake. His hand came away sticky with warm blood.

Fighting back the urge to go to sleep, Merlin looked toward the two armed men who held the only source of light in what was obviously a cave. There was no sign of Mithian.

The sorcerer gathered his strength and attempted to get to his feet. He only made it to his knees, a groan of pain escaping him in the process which was enough to attract the attention of his captors. They started toward him, hands on their sword hilts. With a flash of his eyes, both were thrown backward to land on the rocky dampness of the cave floor, their torch burning where it had fallen.

Merlin tried again to get to his feet, clutching the wounded leg to stem the bleeding. Swaying but upright, he limped toward what appeared to be a more brightly lit cavern beyond where the men had stood. Raised voices came from behind a fold of rock which hid him from the people in the cavern and Merlin sagged with relief to hear Mithian’s voice, strong and alive.

He staggered to where he could see her. Mithian did not appear to be in immediate danger, although her tone indicated panic as well as anger. She faced a man who stood with his back toward Merlin. The sorcerer leaned against the rough stone to catch his breath, his right hand on his leg pressing hard around the arrow shaft.

“What could you have been thinking?” Mithian demanded. “Don’t you understand the peril you put us all in if anything happens to him?”

“I’m protecting Nemeth as well as you by removing the sorcerer. You are bound by whatever enchantments he used to bring you to his bed, stealing you from your rightful husband.”

A stab of guilt went through Merlin when he recognized the person facing Mithian as her brother, Meliant, and understood why he had been brought to this place alive but his wound untreated. Most likely the prince intended to kill him if he refused to release Mithian from his supposed spells. At least he knew for certain she was not in any jeopardy herself. In fact, Meliant was probably in more danger from her than vice versa.

“Don’t you understand that Arthur would not forgive the murder of his closest friend? That your actions have imperilled your own kingdom as well as threatened our greatest source of protection?” A pleading note entered Mithian’s voice.

“King Arthur is under the sorcerer’s influence, as you are, and will thank me for freeing him,” Meliant said.

“Did you even think of speaking with me before you jumped to your conclusions?” Mithian demanded despairingly. “Did you consider talking to Arthur like a responsible ruler would have done before undertaking such a hasty and ill-advised assault on a Camelot citizen? If Merlin dies, if you have seriously harmed him, you jeopardize the peace of Nemeth and we run the risk of plunging back into warfare.” Mithian leaned forward and grabbed a fistful of his green doublet. “Where is he?”

“Here.” Merlin released his pressure on the leg wound to stand straight, facing the others in the cavern, although his left hand was braced against the rock wall.

The Nemeth guard nearest the prince spun around, already drawing his sword. The hilt turned red hot in his hand and he dropped the weapon before it burned deeper into his skin. One of the guards at the far entrance to the cave was quick-witted enough to launch a dagger in Merlin’s direction but the sorcerer held up a hand and the knife clattered harmlessly to the ground.

“Stop!” Mithian shouted, darting around her brother to stand protectively in front of Merlin, facing the rest of them.

Meliant slowly took his hand away from his own weapons. “Where are my men, the ones who were guarding you?” he asked Merlin coldly.

“I’m sorry, I had no idea they were Nemeth soldiers.”

“What do you intend to do now?” Meliant said steadily. He glanced at the soldier on his right who was nursing his burned right hand and staring hatefully at the sorcerer.

Merlin allowed a tiny smile to twitch his mouth, disguising his wince at a stab of pain from his leg. “I’m going to leave you to Mithian.”

“Do not believe for an instant you won’t regret such a retribution,” the princess snapped coldly at her brother’s surprised expression. “You’re not fit to succeed father to the throne if this is an example of your judgement.”

Merlin nearly regretted sentencing Meliant to his sister’s wrath. He laid his left hand on her arm. “Don’t be too harsh. After all, he came to the only logical conclusion.”

Mithian whirled around, clearly not in the mood to puzzle out his meaning, and Merlin flushed slightly. “You’re a beautiful, intelligent princess – magic is the only explanation for you to have any interest in me.”

She stared at him in silence with a look that seemed like pity, although at least she was not angry with him for causing this whole mess.

Mithian laid one hand on his cheek and he found it impossible to look away. “You don’t understand, do you?” she asked. “You don’t realize how special you are. You are kind and loyal and brave and loving and I’m fortunate you looked twice at me.”

Merlin wanted to respond, but as usual when she pinned him with that gaze that saw right through him he could not utter a single word.

“You really like him.”

Meliant’s tone of utter amazement made them tear their eyes away from each other to look at the prince.

He regarded them with an expression of wonder. “You actually … it’s real.”

Mithian turned to confront her brother. “A fact you could have ascertained by speaking with me before you instituted this plot.”

She sounded regal and strong, Merlin thought with pride before drowsiness overcame the pain in his leg and his efforts to ignore it and he passed out again.

~

Meliant was shocked when the dark-haired young man fainted. Despite the strong sedative on the arrowhead, there had been no indication of weakness or pain in the man’s countenance while he disarmed the soldiers and faced the prince. But Meliant’s surprise was nothing against the remorse that gripped him at the stricken look on his sister’s face.

She sank to the ground to cradle the man’s head in her lap and Meliant noticed that her gown was already blood-stained. He also recalled how much blood had soaked those who carried the sorcerer in earlier.

Mithian glared at her brother. “We have to get him to Camelot, to Gaius, the physician, and you are going to see to it now.”

Meliant took his first good look at the man’s wound where the arrow stuck out of his leg. Even with his limited battle experience, Meliant knew the injury would heal as long as it was treated and provided the man did not bleed to death. “We need to remove the arrow first.”

“No, we need to hurry to Camelot,” Mithian begged.

“Trust me,” Meliant said.

The prince signalled his nearest guard to assist. The soldier merely looked down at the injured man with an expression of disgust, his blistered right hand cradled in his left. “He’s a sorcerer, let him die.”

Meliant was jolted by the soldier’s animosity before he acknowledged that he would have said the same a short time ago. Except clearly his sister would be devastated if this sorcerer died.

The prince knelt beside Merlin and grasped hold of the arrow. “Be ready to staunch the blood,” he said to Mithian.

Thankful the sorcerer was not conscious, Meliant snapped the shaft in two. Then he pushed until the arrowhead protruded through the other side of the leg where he could grasp hold and yank it out. Merlin groaned and twitched but his eyes remained closed. He slumped when the arrow came free and Mithian pressed as hard as she could on both entry and exit wounds to stem the fresh flow of blood.

Meliant nudged her hands aside. “Here, I’ll do that, you make a bandage.”

Mithian allowed her brother to take over keeping pressure on the injury while she lifted her riding skirt to rip several long strips from her shift. With her brother’s assistance she bound up the leg, balling some pieces of cloth underneath the wrapping.

“Now, get him onto a horse. We must get him to the physician,” Meliant ordered his guards.

The man with the burned hand gritted his teeth and gestured at two soldiers. They obediently lifted Merlin’s slight form.

Mithian followed them out of the cavern. She was right beside them as the soldiers tossed Merlin over a horse. Meliant drew her away and guided her to her own horse before mounting himself.

As they rode toward Camelot, he looked over at his sister several times. Her eyes remained fixed on Merlin and the paleness of her features increased Meliant’s guilt.

They had barely reached the citadel steps when the sight of Merlin injured brought three knights rushing down the palace steps. The tallest, a man Meliant thought must be part giant, lifted the wounded man single-handedly and carried him bodily into the citadel. Mithian followed and then the dark-haired knight, a worried frown on his face.

“Your Highness,” the blond knight greeted Meliant in obvious surprise.

“I will explain all later.” Meliant hurried to catch up to his sister.

He reached the physician’s chamber in time to see the distraught look on the old man’s face at the sight of his patient.

“Merlin!”

The elderly physician rushed to treat the injury, not asking how it had happened. One knight cleared the nearest work table with a sweep of his arm so the other could lay the patient down.

Meliant watched his sister grasp tightly to the unconscious man’s hand where it rested on the table. She held tight while the physician cleaned and rebandaged Merlin’s wound.

“He’ll be all right,” the old man assured the two knights as he stepped back and swiped at his brow.

Meliant saw the extent of their relief at his assertion. The dark-haired knight appeared especially relieved and the prince wondered that he would be so concerned about a sorcerer, one of obviously low birth at that. Then Meliant was brushed aside where he stood on the threshold and he realized King Arthur had arrived, a distressed look on his face.

“Gaius? I was told Merlin had been injured.”

“He’ll be fine, Sire,” the physician sighed. His own worried expression eased as Merlin’s breathing evened out and colour returned to his cheeks. “It was an arrow wound but it’s clean and the bleeding has all but stopped. Although Merlin seems unusually lethargic, perhaps there was some kind of soporific used as well.”

Once the anxiety had drained from the king’s face he looked around the room for an explanation. His eyes fell on Meliant and widened in perplexion.

“It is my fault,” the prince admitted.

King Arthur narrowed his gaze on the prince’s face but he crossed his arms and waited without speaking for an explanation.

“I heard,” Meliant began. “I thought ... I mean he’s a sorcerer.” Meliant felt the force of several pairs of eyes glaring accusingly at him but before he could attempt to explain himself further the queen arrived.

“Merlin!” she gasped, rushing forward to stand beside Mithian.

“He’ll be all right, Guinevere,” the physician repeated.

“Thank goodness. What happened?” The queen looked at Mithian who gazed pointedly at her brother.

Meliant shrank at yet another hostile glare.

“Excuse us,” the king said and Meliant found himself escorted forcibly from the chamber by the king himself.

Arthur stopped only a few paces into the corridor. “Did you intend to break the terms of our alliance with Nemeth by violently attacking one of my citizens?”

Meliant paled at the intensity behind the words. “No. I mean, yes it was intentional but I didn’t consider … he’s only a sorcerer and a peasant …” He stopped at the king’s threatening expression. The prince barely managed to stand his ground as Arthur took a step closer.

“If Merlin does not recover fully, or if he does and is ever again injured in your presence or the presence of any of your men, I will take it as a declaration of war and respond accordingly.”

Meliant nodded in understanding. He assumed the gesture was sufficient because King Arthur left his royal guest standing in the corridor to rejoin the group around the patient’s bed in the physician’s chambers.

Unwilling to face any more accusatory stares from the concerned people inside the room, Meliant retreated to wait with his men for an official audience with Camelot’s king.

~

Mithian rocked on the balls of her feet while she bounced the tightly wrapped infant in her arms. When a knock sounded at her chamber door, she nodded at the maid to admit her brother.

Meliant hesitated on the threshold as though unsure of his welcome.

“Thank you, you may leave us,” Mithian said in answer Gvynna’s unspoken query.

The blonde woman stepped aside to allow the prince entry and then closed the door behind her after she left.

“How was your visit with Arthur?” Mithian asked by way of greeting.

Her brother had the grace to look ashamed. “He didn’t throw me into the dungeon but I got the impression he wanted to. And that dark-haired knight gave me a look as though I should ensure I don’t run into him without a heavily armed guard beside me.”

Mithian smiled at that.

“If I was not certain King Arthur valued peace and our alliance I would have been concerned for my safety. The Queen had an merciless look in her eyes.”

It was gratifying that her brother was wise enough to know he should not test Guinevere.

Meliant looked questioningly at her. “The old physician, is he the young man’s father?”

“No,” Mithian said. “Although he is Merlin’s guardian and cares about him a great deal.”

“They all seem to.” There was a confused look in her brother’s face. “Why? Why were so many people concerned about a sorcerer who is not of noble birth?”

Mithian regarded her brother’s puzzled expression for a long moment, thinking of the words to express what she wanted to say. “Magic was banned before we were born, we grew up thinking sorcerers were criminals, that they were different from us. But the time I spent under Morgana’s eye, passing every moment of every day in close company with her, I realized she was a human being. A person consumed by bitterness who refused to forgive, who directed her fear and hatred at everyone around her, but a human being.”

Her brother appeared even more perplexed at her comparison to Morgana who was, if anything, a reason to hate anyone with magic.

“Merlin is a person, too, not just a sorcerer. A person who tries to find goodness in people, who makes mistakes and regrets them, who would sacrifice anything for his friends.”

Meliant stared at her. “I’ve heard tales, stories that say he’s no ordinary sorcerer. That he’s done fearful things. That his magic comes from the devil.”

“There’s truth in some of the stories of what he’s done, but surely you don’t believe those wild tales about being fathered by a demon?”

“No. But I didn’t doubt there was a powerful sorcerer working within Camelot and when my informants relayed where he spent his nights I had to act.”

The prince flushed at the sharp look Mithian directed at him.

“I should have come to you first, I realize that, or spoken openly with Arthur, but I assumed you were both under the sorcerer’s control.” Meliant squared his shoulders. “I won’t make a mistake like that again, not when I’m king.”

Mithian felt her heart skip a beat. “Is father not any better?”

“He’s the same,” Meliant said sadly. “You know how hard this past year has been on him. As a matter of fact, that’s part of the reason I left Nemeth. I’m supposed to be on my way to Gawant.”

“You’re a considerable distance out of your way, then. Gawant is much closer to Nemeth,” Mithian said. “What is your business with Lord Godwyn?”

A smile touched Meliant’s face and Mithian was struck by a suspicion of what her brother’s mission was.

“Father has arranged a match between you and Elena, is that it?” she asked excitedly.

Meliant nodded. “Everything has been settled. She’s the sole heir to Gawant and on our marriage we will join the two kingdoms. It’s small by itself, but combined we’ll match Deorham in strength. Odin will be forced to abandon any plans he may yet have to expand his territory at our expense.”

“Elena is a free spirit. She hardly ever wears shoes and she would sooner befriend a fox or deer than hunt them.” Mithian regarded her brother thoughtfully.

“She is unconventional.” Meliant appeared to be more intrigued than he was dismayed.

Mithian glanced down at the baby she was holding to see the boy sleeping quietly. She smiled tenderly at the tiny person with his crop of soft, dark hair. When she looked up she found Meliant gazing at the child.

“This is Erec. Do you want to hold him?”

She chuckled at her brother’s horrified expression, but he did come closer to peek down into the baby’s face.

“Whose child is he?” Meliant asked.

Mithian gave him a stern look. “Mine.”

Her brother flushed slightly. “I meant –”

“I know,” she answered.

Meliant bent his head and stared raptly at the sleeping infant. “He’s a beautiful little nephew.”

They stood together for a moment, gazing at the child, before the sound of a door closing caught their attention. They both looked up to see Merlin, who stopped when he saw Mithian was not alone and who she was with.

“Sorry, I’ll come back later,” he mumbled but as he made to leave Meliant stopped him.

“No, please, I should leave anyway,” the prince said, embarrassed at Merlin’s limp.

“You’re welcome to visit with us, you know,” she said.

He gave her a wry smile. “I think my welcome in Camelot has worn quite thin. Besides, I have business to attend to elsewhere.”

“Give my greetings to Lord Godwyn and Elena.”

The baby hiccupped and pursed his mouth to let out a tiny cry. Mithian wondered if it was a passing whimper or the beginning of a full-out bawl.

“I’ll take him,” Merlin offered as he limped forward.

She handed him the baby who went back to sleep. Mithian smiled, warmed by the tender expression on Merlin’s face as he held the child. When she turned back to her brother she caught an expression of awe on his face.

He gave her a look filled with apology. “I can see you are well and happy. I wish you all the best,” he said by way of farewell.

“You, too,” Mithian said, holding out a hand.

He grasped it tightly and gave her fingers a squeeze before he left.

When the door closed behind him, Mithian turned back to Merlin. She slid her arms around him as he stood, favouring his right leg, gently rocking baby Erec. He smiled down at her and she rested her head against his shoulder.


	11. Summer, Fifth Year of Arthur’s Reign

“King Rodor is dead,” Nemeth’s messenger announced. “Long live King Meliant.”

Arthur looked at Merlin. The young ruler who now wore Nemeth’s crown was under no obligation to honour the treaty his father had made. His decision alone would determine the future of his kingdom and decide its allies and its enemies.

Arthur arranged for himself and his queen to visit Nemeth to pay their respects to the deceased monarch and forge ties with the new one. They took with them Merlin, Gwaine, Percival, and three more of Arthur’s knights leaving responsibility for Camelot to Leon.

Tall grass came up to the horses’ bellies on an open stretch of ground, the yellow stalks baked stiff by the sun. Clouds of dust stirred up by the horses’ hooves hung in the stillness and mosquitoes disturbed by their passing whined into the air.

Guinevere rode on the king’s left. As queen, she should be riding in a carriage but that would have slowed their journey and she had given Arthur a withering look at the suggestion.

Merlin nudged his horse up beside Arthur’s right. “Do you think you’ll convince Meliant to make the same treaty with you as his father did? He’s never been as tolerant of your acceptance of magic.” Merlin shifted in the saddle.

“Don’t be too sure. Meliant has had time to see that far from falling into chaos and ruin, Camelot is stronger now than it was.” Arthur gave his companion a searching look. “He allowed you to accompany us, which shows he’s willing to suspend his own laws at least for a time.”

“His sister might have had something to say about that,” Guinevere said.

Merlin shook his head. “He allowed me temporary passage into Nemeth, but he’s uncomfortable around me.”

“A lot of people are uncomfortable around you, Merlin,” Arthur said drily. “It might not be for the reason that you think.”

“Marriage to Elena might have changed his attitude,” Guinevere said.

Arthur raised his brows. “Lord Godwyn and my father were close friends and agreed absolutely on the evils of magic. That’s why they wanted Elena and I …” His cheeks coloured at mention of the aborted wedding. “On the other hand, we can’t assume Elena shares her father’s views on anything; she’s strange.” He frowned at Merlin’s smirk.

“You don’t like her because she can out-ride you.”

“For the last time, I let her win,” Arthur muttered.

“Mithian was looking forward to seeing Elena again, despite her worry over her father’s condition,” Guinevere said. “I’m glad she got to Nemeth in time to see Rodor before his death.”

The sadness in her voice clawed at Arthur’s insides but he had tried every way he knew to ease her grief without success. Guinevere keenly felt Elyan’s absence despite the months that had passed since his death.

A large insect landed on her arm. Its tubular blue body was pointed at the ground, transparent wings held out at right angles to its body, and its round eyes stared upward. She stared back, transfixed by the dragonfly. Then her horse lurched and the insect flew off in search of mosquitoes.

“We should be at Nemeth shortly after midday,” Arthur said, his eyes on his queen. He hoped being with Mithian and sharing her grief would help Guinevere cope with the loss of her brother.

She gave her husband a reassuring smile.

~

 

Nemeth’s new king greeted King Arthur and Queen Guinevere in the citadel’s grand hall. The regal blonde beside Meliant looked every bit a queen with her hair neatly arranged and wearing a lovely gown in Nemeth’s royal colour, but the corners of Elena’s mouth twitched at Arthur’s awkward greeting.

Camelot’s royalty were shown to the suite of rooms prepared for their arrival. The knights accompanied them but, before Merlin follow, he caught the eye of the maidservant hovering in the background of the entrance hall. Gvynna beckoned him into a side corridor.

Gwaine gave him a knowing look and Percival glanced at him curiously when Merlin told them to go on without him. He followed Mithian’s maid into the servant’s corridor.

“She’s sitting with her father’s body,” Gvynna whispered. “She asked me to bring you to her as soon as you arrived.” The young woman led him to a chamber not far from the great hall, curtsied, and hurried off.

Two wide doors inlaid with silver scrollwork were guarded by sentries wearing bronze helms and holding tall spears pointed at the ceiling. Merlin approached the closed doors at the same moment that Meliant approached from the opposite direction. Merlin halted, his eyes scanning the corridor, but it was too late to escape the king’s notice.

Meliant stopped at the sight of Merlin standing uncertainly in the corridor. The king hesitated a moment, then waved at the guards standing at the chamber entrance. They immediately swung the doors inward.

“You should go in,” Meliant said, not meeting Merlin’s eyes.

“Thank you,” Merlin said.

The young king merely turned away, striding back down the corridor the way he had come.

Inside the chamber, Mithian was sitting in a chair near the dais on which King Rodor had been laid out. She was dry-eyed but there was an expression of such sadness on her face that Merlin’s heart clenched.

She looked up at his entrance. When he came forward she stood to meet him, and as soon as he enfolded her in his embrace wracking sobs began to shake her.

Merlin held her and let her cry. They stood like that until he became aware that Meliant, Arthur, and Gwen had joined them along with Princess – no, Queen – Elena.

Mithian’s sobbing quieted and she lifted her head. She swiped at her eyes, composing herself to greet Arthur and Gwen.

When Gwen came forward to give Mithian a comforting hug, Merlin looked down at Rodor’s still form. He appeared peaceful enough, although his face looked older than Merlin thought it should. Then a jolt went through the sorcerer, drawing his eyes to a pendant around the king’s neck. The pull of strong magic emanating from the gem was unmistakable, and Merlin’s eyes went wide when he realized what that stone was, shining brighter than a jewel.

“What is it, Merlin?” came Arthur’s voice.

Merlin turned a stricken look toward him before reaching for the pendant, snapping the delicate links of the chain to hold it in his palm. “It’s an Eye of the Phoenix.”

The sorcerer had fixed his eyes on Meliant, whose look of outrage at Merlin’s action was replaced with a calculating expression.

“Is it magic?” the young king questioned coldly.

Merlin nodded. “It’s a Firebird. Its eye burns with fire as it consumes a person’s life force, until …”

“Did it kill him?” Meliant asked relentlessly when Merlin did not continue.

“Yes.” The sorcerer did not take his eyes from Meliant, unsure what the young king would do at the news that his father was dead because of sorcery. Malicious sorcery. “He would have grown weaker, dizzy, the longer he wore it until it finally consumed his life.”

Mithian gasped.

“Where did it come from?” Gwen asked.

“It was a gift from –” Meliant broke off and stared at Arthur. “We were told it was from you, to bring us good fortune.”

Arthur shook his head. “Who delivered it and when?”

“A soldier, only a few days before,” Meliant’s voice wavered and he quickly steadied it, “only a few days before Father died. The man was still here this morning, I sent him to greet your party when you arrived since I believed he was one of yours.” Meliant spun to fire orders at the guards.

The new king turned back to those waiting silently in the chamber, regarding him closely. His eyes fell on Merlin. Some of the rage faded from Meliant’s expression and he glanced briefly at his sister before meeting Merlin’s worried stare. He stood with the Eye of the Phoenix on his outstretched palm.

“I don’t blame you,” Meliant said defensively as though the others in the room were expecting him to fly into a rage and begin another Purge. “Nor will I take any action until we know who’s behind this and why it happened.”

Mithian gave her brother a look of gratitude and Arthur visibly relaxed. Merlin’s heart began to slow its rapid beat.

“Thank you for exposing this,” Meliant added, although the words sounded forced. He came closer and peered at the pendant Merlin held. “Is it safe to touch it?”

“No.” The sorcerer closed his fingers around the Eye.

Arthur had been staring fixedly at the gem. “That looks remarkably like a jewel given to me as a gift once, although that one was mounted in a bracelet.”

“Who gave it to you? Where did it go? Maybe this is the same one,” Meliant asked.

“It was a present from Morgana,” Arthur said. “To bring me good fortune,” he added sarcastically.

There were several audible intakes of breath at his statement.

“But it cannot be the same one because I lost the bracelet in the Perilous Lands. I was truly sorry at Morgana’s disappointment when I told her I had misplaced it.” Arthur paused and looked at Merlin with dawning comprehension. “It disappeared about the same time you showed up during my quest.”

Elena looked curiously at Merlin.

“You never lost it, I took it off before it killed you.”

“What did you do with it? Could this be the same one?” Arthur asked.

Merlin shook his head. “I gave the other to the Fisher King. It vanished with him.”

A puzzled look came over Arthur but before he could ask any more questions a guard returned with word of the man who had delivered the pendant.

“They found him,” Meliant repeated to the others. “But he resisted arrest and has been gravely wounded.”

Arthur frowned. “We need him to lead us to whoever sent him.”

“I know. Come with me.” Meliant went with the guard leaving Arthur, Merlin, Mithian, Gwen, and Elena to follow him.

The unconscious man had been dragged into the corridor outside the chamber, bleeding heavily from a stomach wound. An otherwise bald head was circled by a ring of reddish hair that was several shades darker than his thick red beard. A line of puckered, white skin traced across the man’s cheek and disappeared into the beard.

“You recognize him,” Meliant said, staring at Arthur.

Arthur met his gaze. “Yes, he’s one of Odin’s men.”

“Are you certain?” Meliant demanded.

“I got a good look at him as he was holding me so that Odin could chop my head off,” Arthur ground out. “At that time he had on the black helmet they all wear, but yes, this is the same man.”

“So Odin is still in league with Morgana after all,” Meliant growled.

“Wait,” Arthur demanded when the younger king seemed about to begin issuing orders to his soldiers. “We don’t know for certain that Odin himself is involved. This could be Morgana’s doing alone, or someone else working with her.”

The dark-haired king regarded him in absolute astonishment. “How can you make any excuse for anything that odious man has done? After his attempts on your life? The death of your own father? You should have killed him when you had the opportunity before he could cause the death of another king,” Meliant muttered bitterly.

“I’m well aware of all that Odin is liable for and the destruction he has uncaringly caused. The blame falls to him for the assault on your kingdom, and your treatment and your father’s under his soldiers, but we do not yet know for certain that Rodor’s death was Odin’s doing.”

“You identified his soldier,” the younger king said.

“But he is not able to tell us who gave him the pendant or why, or what Odin knew about it.” Arthur turned to Merlin. “Will this man live?”

Merlin crouched to examine the wound more closely. “I don’t think so.”

“Will he regain consciousness enough to answer questions?”

“Maybe,” Merlin responded doubtfully. “But it would not be soon.”

“I will not wait for such a slim chance when we already know this man takes his orders from Odin,” Meliant said. “I’ll march my army to his doorstep and he can personally admit his guilt.”

“That would be an act of war,” Arthur cautioned.

“As is murdering a king,” the dark-haired young monarch responded coldly.

Arthur laid a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Please, let me be the one to confront Odin.”

“Are you going to invite him here?” Meliant’s tone remained cold but he made no further move to rally his men, his eyes fixed on the other king. “He would not dare show his face in Nemeth.”

“Then I’ll go to him,” Arthur said. “He will answer to me if he has broken the terms of our treaty by a deliberate act of aggression toward Nemeth.”

For a long moment everyone in the corridor was still, all eyes fixed on the young king, waiting to know whether his first significant act as ruler would be a declaration of war.

Meliant looked from Arthur to Elena, then finally gave a slight nod as he returned his gaze to Arthur. “You speak with Odin, then. I will not take any action until I receive your confirmation of his guilt.”

“Thank you,” King Arthur said before he dropped his hand from the younger man’s shoulder.

“What about this man?” Merlin questioned, crouched beside the wounded soldier.

“He comes with us,” Arthur ordered.

“He needs rest if he is to have any chance to heal,” Merlin said quietly.

Arthur looked at him steadily. “Will he recover if left to heal?”

The sorcerer shook his head. “Probably not.”

“We take him to Deorham. Either he regains consciousness and speaks, or Odin confronts the evidence against him in the man’s body. We leave without delay,” Arthur assured Meliant.

 

~

Arthur expected word of their armed party to reach Odin within hours of crossing the border between Deorham and Nemeth. Only five of Camelot’s knights had escorted the king and queen to Nemeth, so Arthur agreed a score of Nemeth’s soldiers would accompany him, Merlin, and his knights to Deorham. In anticipation of Odin’s men intercepting them the next day, Arthur called a halt at the most suitable place to camp inside Odin’s kingdom.

When darkness fell, the king sat near the remains of their cookfire. His bench was the dead stump of a tree from which they had cut branches to build the fire. Leaves smoked on the smouldering embers to discourage the clouds of mosquitoes and flies, but a high-pitched whine was frequently followed by the sound of a slap and the soldiers’ curses.

Merlin stared fixedly into the smoke.

“How is the wounded man?” the king asked.

Merlin shook his head in mute response. Then he looked up at Arthur. “He’s probably a sorcerer.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Someone would have activated the Eye by burning a tiny effigy, then setting fire to the ashes. That’s why he remained in Nemeth; he would have performed the enchantment more than once.”

“You didn’t want Meliant to know the assassin had magic, did you?”

“I didn’t want to fan his mistrust of sorcerers.”

Arthur nodded sympathetically.

Merlin went back to staring at the smoking embers. “Do you believe Odin is at fault for this murder?” he asked at length.

The king ran a hand through his hair. “I truly don’t know, but I am certain Morgana is involved and whatever her plan is, if there is war, she wins. She would like to destroy my truce with Odin and see Camelot dragged into fighting against Deorham or Nemeth or both if she could, and have us all weakened further.”

“In a way I hope Odin is responsible, even if it means war with him.”

“You don’t mean that,” Arthur said.

Merlin sighed. “No. But I fear what Meliant will do if it’s a sorcerer in league with Morgana instead of Odin.”

If Meliant could be convinced of Odin’s innocence, then war between Nemeth and Deorham could be avoided. But if the sorcerer had acted on his own, then his reasons for aiding Morgana were likely due to Rodor’s persecution of magic and that would incite Meliant’s wrath against sorcerers and sorcery. Then the young king might follow Uther’s example and redouble efforts to eradicate magic and sorcerers from his kingdom. Meliant could insist that Mithian remain in Nemeth and her son with her, and even if she refused it would devastate her to be estranged from the only living member of her family. Or he might renounce all ties with Arthur and ally Nemeth and Gawant with Urien who almost certainly would mount an assault against Camelot.

One of the Nemeth soldiers shouted for Merlin to attend to the wounded man, but it was too late to do anything more for him.

“Now he definitely can’t tell us who sent him,” Gwaine said, looking down at the body.

“Odin will confront us before we advance much further into his land,” Arthur said. “Then he can explain to us himself why one of his men delivered a cursed pendant to Rodor that took the king’s life. There’s nothing further to be done tonight. We might as well get some rest.” Arthur bedded down next to the smoldering remains of their fire, sword planted firmly in the ground beside him.

~

They had barely broken camp and advanced an hour further into Deorham when Odin met them. A party of armed soldiers at the older king’s back outnumbered Arthur’s forces two to one.

Odin signalled his men to hold their position behind him and remain mounted. Despite the early morning heat which warned of another hot day, the soldiers wore black helmets which partially concealed their faces. Only the king himself was bareheaded.

Arthur motioned for his knights and the Nemeth soldiers to halt likewise. His horse twitched restlessly as the other king rode closer.

 “Arthur Pendragon,” Odin greeted them, his black eyes cold. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your uninvited presence in my land with a group of armed soldiers?”

“You heard King Rodor is dead?”

“Yes, and his whelp has assumed the throne. What has that to do with your presence here?”

He sounded as though he was truly attempting to discern the reason for their journey.

“Did you know Rodor’s death was the result of magic?” Arthur asked bluntly.

Odin’s grey-black eyebrows knitted in a frown. “No.”

Arthur indicated that the body of the dead man be brought forward. A Nemeth soldier dismounted and heaved a blanket-wrapped bundle to the ground between the two kings, flipping aside the coverings to reveal the scarred face with its red beard. Recognition was immediately apparent in Odin’s expression.

“Your man?” Arthur accused.

Odin looked from the face of the dead man to the blond king. His expression was guarded but showed more bafflement than guilt. “Yes.”

“This is the man who delivered the cursed item that resulted in Rodor’s death.” Arthur waited for the other king to respond. He was aware of the hostile looks being sent towards Odin’s party by the Nemeth soldiers, but Arthur was confident they would not act without his orders.

The older king held Arthur’s gaze levelly. “If he was involved in an attempt on Rodor’s life, it was not at my command,” Odin said with the same bluntness. He gestured to one of his men to collect the body. “I will investigate this man’s actions. You are welcome to be my guest while the inquiry is conducted.”

Arthur could not be sure whether the invitation was an expression of Odin’s honest goodwill or an attempt to confine them within his citadel. But despite the litany of the other king’s deplorable acts in hiring assassins to kill Arthur and attacking a peaceful kingdom, Odin had not displayed any aptitude for deception. He made no secret of his hatred for Arthur or his thirst for vengeance, nor had he ever denied any of the acts of which he had been guilty.

“We will accompany you and assist in any way we can with determining the true cause of this heinous murder,” Arthur agreed.

He ignored the doubtful looks sent his way by both Gwaine and Percival who clearly saw no reason to trust their king’s safety or their own within Deorham’s stronghold and spurred his mount to follow the other king.

~

Deorham’s citadel offered a comforting coolness from the ever-increasing heat of the afternoon. The Deorham guards escorted Arthur’s party to the Great Hall while Odin investigated the actions of his dead soldier.

“Arthur Pendragon,” said a tall woman who stood serenely in the corridor. Her hair was completely grey but her eyebrows were black and her eyes were a penetrating green.

“Your Highness.” Arthur bowed his head deferentially.

Queen Athelis nodded respectfully in return. Merlin wondered if she harboured the same resentments against Arthur as her husband for the death of their son so many years ago. He glanced at Arthur to see the same uncertainty in his face.

“Not a day passes without a reminder that my boy is not here, but I don’t seek revenge against you for his death. I know my son made it difficult for you to walk away from his challenge,” the queen said. “Odin was a loving father in his way but also a demanding one. Some of his hatred of you is guilt at how he treated his son and the part that played in our boy’s death. But despite what you think of Odin, he would not break his word, nor does he lie. He’s not responsible for this assassination plot.”

“Is Odin still in league with Morgana?” Arthur asked.

“So her hand is in this. He always had a weakness for a pretty face,” she said. “But no, Odin has not been in contact with the witch since that ill-advised assault on Nemeth.”

Arthur held her gaze for a moment before he nodded. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

She gestured to the guards to continue. Arthur bowed his head again before following them towards the hall, his knights and the Nemeth soldiers at his heels.

Merlin was about to do the same, but stopped and bowed when the Queen stepped into his path.

“From the description I have been given, you would be the man who convinced Arthur not to plunge this land into a bloody feud last year by executing my husband.”

Merlin glanced up while keeping his head lowered to find her sharp gaze fixed on him. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“You are more than an advisor, are you not?”

Merlin could not think of a suitable response.

She did not seem to need one, however, merely giving him an appraising look. “I wish you and your king well in your efforts to keep the peace again now.” With that, she swept away leaving Merlin to follow the others down the corridor.

Merlin returned to Deorham’s great hall to take up his position near Arthur before Odin strode into the room. The Camelot knights and Nemeth warriors tensed and Odin’s troops watched them sharply. Arthur waited calmly where he stood as Odin took his seat on the throne.

“I have questioned my deceased soldier’s fellow troops. I have also spoken with his wife who advised that he made several trips recently to a ruined temple nearby, one that has been abandoned since Roman times.” Odin paused and glanced around the room before returning his gaze to Arthur. “It is the same place where I held my meetings with Morgana.”

The Nemeth soldiers cast dark looks at Odin.

“Had he previously accompanied you to meet with Morgana?” Arthur asked.

“Yes.” Fury at being interrogated in his own citadel was etched in Odin’s face, but he held his temper.

“Was he acting on your orders to carry out Morgana’s plan to assassinate Rodor? Are you in league with her now?”

Odin kept his eyes fixed on Arthur, his anger barely held in check. “There is no indication anyone else was involved in her plot.”

“But this man was sworn to obey you, was he not?”

“Enough! This is my kingdom. I do not answer to you, boy, and you are not welcome here.” Odin’s black eyes snapped as he glared at Arthur. His mouth was compressed into a tight line so that the salt-and-pepper hair of his upper lip nearly met that of his beard. “Were it not for our truce you would not leave here alive.”

“A truce could only ensure my safety if you’re a man of your word,” Arthur said.

Odin’s expression was outraged. “As I am.”

“Then give me your word that you had no involvement in the plot to assassinate Rodor, and no one who participated was acting under your orders.” No trace of animosity coloured the blond king’s neutral tone.

For a long moment Odin stared furiously at Arthur. It was clear he would have preferred to give his men the order to imprison or kill them all, but he was conscious of the price of that action. The Nemeth soldiers were anxious to avenge their king’s death and any aggression against Arthur or his knights could bring on a war with Camelot. Deorham would be hard pressed to defend itself on both fronts, especially as Nemeth controlled Gawant as well.

Odin stood on the dais in front of his throne as his black eyes scanned the room, noting the easy confidence of the Camelot knights, the barely-held-in-check hostility of the Nemeth soldiers, and the ready stance of his own soldiers. Finally Odin’s gaze came back to Arthur. “You have my word that to the best of my knowledge that man acted alone to carry out whatever foul deed Morgana asked of him.”

“Then I will explain to King Meliant that no retribution is due to Deorham and Morgana’s only known accomplice is dead. I see no reason to remain here any longer.” Arthur took his gaze away from Odin to meet the eyes of his own men, silently communicating there would be no hostilities, finally coming to rest on Merlin. Then Arthur turned back to face Odin where he stood stiffly in front of his throne. “Thank you for your assistance. With your leave, we’ll return as quickly as we can to Nemeth.”

“I will arrange for an escort to ensure your safe journey to our border.”

The offer was meant as an armed guard rather than due to any concern for Arthur’s safety. “No need,” he politely declined.

“Then I wish you well, Arthur Pendragon.”

Arthur gave Odin a nod of deference which was returned in kind. Then the younger king strode through the ranks of Deorham guards who parted silently to let him pass, the Camelot knights and Nemeth soldiers following him.

Merlin watched Odin, looking for any sign the man had lied about his involvement in the plot to murder Rodor. There was no indication of triumph or deceit – only grudging respect for Arthur and relief the confrontation had ended peaceably. Merlin turned away to trail the last of the Nemeth soldiers out of the room.

As he followed Arthur’s party down the steps of the citadel into the bright sunshine to await the grooms bringing their mounts, Merlin saw the body of the red-bearded soldier who had delivered the Eye of the Phoenix to Rodor. It lay in the courtyard covered in the blanket he had been wrapped in for the journey from Nemeth. A woman was hunched beside the dead man, her sobs drowning out the buzzing of flies.

Merlin approached the dead sorcerer’s wife. “I’m sorry for your loss. I did what I could.”

The woman looked up at his sincere expression of sympathy. Dark circles under eyes red from weeping indicated she had been worried at her husband’s long absence even before receiving word of his death. “You’re the physician who treated his wound?”

Merlin simply nodded.

“They were asking me questions, but no one told me what happened.” Her pleading look tore at him.

“He was wounded when he resisted arrest in Nemeth,” Merlin explained.

Her eyes closed briefly. “What was he arrested for?” she asked with a resigned expression.

Merlin hesitated. “He was responsible for the death of the king,” he finally admitted.

The woman passed a hand across her face. Then she looked directly up at him. “Was Morgana involved?”

Again Merlin nodded. He crouched down to lay a hand on the woman’s shoulder.

She looked at the body of her husband. “He kept talking about how the king gave up his claim to Nemeth too easily, and how Odin would have ensured those with magic would no longer be persecuted. I told him it was no concern of ours, but he kept talking about liberating all the lands and how Morgana was the only hope for true freedom.” The woman met Merlin’s eyes. “She isn’t. She’s a madwoman. And now my husband is dead.” Fresh tears welled up and she looked back at the body under the sheet before covering her face with her hands.

At a loss as to what comfort he could offer, Merlin looked over to see the rest of Arthur’s party mounted, ready to leave. Gwaine was astride his horse, next to Merlin’s waiting mount.

Merlin joined him, leaving the woman to mourn, saddened the same story was playing out yet again: Nemeth outlawed magic, a sorcerer retaliated by committing murder, and the king would take his revenge on all those who practiced magic.

~

By the time the sun neared the western horizon, they had put several leagues between themselves and Deorham’s citadel. The temperature began to drop along with the disappearing sun, but the heat that had built during the afternoon was slow to relax its hold. The whine of mosquitoes grew as the weight of the sun’s warmth eased and the horses’ tails swished frantically.

Once they had tended to the animals and fed themselves, Merlin settled beside Arthur. The king sat on the rough ground in the growing dark lost in thought. What he said to Meliant the next day and how he said it would influence the young man waiting anxiously to know who to blame for his father’s death. He might even declare war against Odin despite Arthur’s advice.

“You’ve kept peace between Camelot and Deorham, but can you do the same between Nemeth and Deorham?” Merlin said. “We have no proof Odin wasn’t involved in Rodor’s death.” And if Meliant did accept that Odin was blameless in Rodor’s death, how would the new ruler react to the knowledge that two sorcerers had carried out his father’s assassination?

“I hope Meliant will trust my judgement,” Arthur said.

“What will happen when you tell him the murderer was a sorcerer?”

“I believe he’ll base his next actions on his respect for you.”

“Me?” Merlin asked in surprise. “I’ll be lucky if he lets me leave with my head attached to my shoulders. Nemeth is his kingdom, and sorcery is banned. It will be worse now that magic has been used to kill his father.”

Arthur gave him a cryptic look. “Don’t be too sure. You were the one to expose the plot.”

“If I hadn’t said anything, we would all have been better off.”

“Morgana would have ensured the truth about Rodor’s death came to light, and in the worst possible way.”

Merlin berated himself for not having foreseen Morgana’s plan soon enough to save Rodor. If he had gone to Nemeth earlier, he would have recognized the pendant immediately, then the new king would have reason to thank him rather than blame him. “How can I convince Meliant magic can be used for good as well as evil?”

“Meliant is aware he can trust you and rely on your advice.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Merlin asked, staring at Arthur.

“I see myself in him.”

“ _You_ never listen to me, either,” Merlin said.

“Yes I do,” Arthur said. “Even when I don’t admit it. There’s something about you, Merlin, and Meliant knows that.”

Merlin stared at Arthur in consternation but instead of an explanation the king merely announced that they had best get some sleep.

“We’ve got a long ride yet tomorrow.” Arthur gave Merlin a pat on the shoulder as he got up and went to stretch out on his blankets, sword planted in the ground beside him.

~

 

Nemeth’s royal guard met them the moment they rode into the citadel courtyard. Arthur was not even given time to shake the dust off his cloak before he was escorted to the chamber where Meliant awaited their report.

At their arrival the young king stopped pacing and sat at the head of a long table and motioned Arthur to take a seat. The Camelot knights took up positions near the chamber door and Merlin stood next to Gwaine, looking down the length of the table at the two royals.

Meliant was drumming the hard surface with his fingers. “Odin isn’t with you but there has been no word of war.”

“There was no evidence of his involvement in your father’s death,” Arthur said calmly.

“The assassin?” Meliant questioned.

“Dead of his wounds.”

“Did he tell you who his accomplices were?”

“Apparently he was in contact with Morgana, but he was not acting on Odin’s orders.”

“How do you know?”

Arthur paused before he answered the last rapid-fire question from the young king. “Odin questioned those who knew the man.”

Meliant’s fingers stopped their drumming. “This information is from Odin himself? How can you trust him?”

“He kept the terms of our truce, I have no reason to distrust him.” Arthur said.

The dark-haired king sat unmoving while his eyes searched Arthur’s face. “You are asking me to accept Odin’s word that there were only two conspirators in my father’s death, and that Odin himself is innocent?”

“I am asking you to accept my word,” the blond king replied.

“What reason did the assassin have to take on the dangerous mission of killing a king using a magical item in a kingdom where sorcery is banned? Why would he do such a thing?”

“He was a sorcerer,” Merlin said. “He believed that killing Rodor and seeing Nemeth fall was the way to end the persecution of magic. He wanted to join Morgana in her fight for freedom.”

The young king’s hard gaze swung to Merlin, staring down the length of the long table.

Merlin held his breath, but before Meliant could react the door to the chamber was thrown open to admit an anxious-looking Mithian followed by a worried Gwen and a serene Elena.

The knights respectfully moved aside. Elena proceeded calmly to take the seat at Meliant’s left and Gwen took her place next to Arthur. As Mithian sat in a chair near Meliant, she examined her brother’s face closely but his gaze remained fixed on Merlin.

Finally, the young king broke off his stare to meet his sister’s eyes. “Arthur assures me Odin had no hand in Father’s death,” Meliant said. “The sorcerer with the scarred face and red beard was the only one plotting with Morgana.”

“It’s my fault,” Merlin said. All eyes turned to him in surprise. “I should have stopped him, I’m familiar with the Eye of the Phoenix and I know what Morgana is capable of. I’m supposed to prevent these things from happening.”

Meliant regarded him in disbelief. “You cannot be personally responsible to stop every attempt to use magic for some evil purpose.”

Merlin shook his head, knowing what was at stake in this case, what his lack of foresight might cost if Nemeth’s new king turned against Arthur. “If I had been here I could have saved Rodor.”

“You’re not to blame, I am,” Meliant said slowly.

Puzzled, Merlin looked at the young ruler.

“Mithian tried to explain, and Arthur tried to explain, how this hatred of magic makes enemies for no good reason. If evil were inherent in magic then my sister would not feel about you the way she does, nor would Arthur respect your opinion the way he does.” Meliant turned to Elena. “You are right, we cannot continue to ban sorcery in our kingdoms.”

Meliant had laid a hand on Elena’s arm, and she laid her hand on top of his.

Merlin did not realize he was staring with open-mouthed astonishment at them both until Gwaine gave him a poke in the ribs.

Meliant turned back to Arthur. “Thank you for keeping me from a rash response when we discovered the identity of the man responsible for hastening Father’s death. I shouldn’t have immediately assumed Odin’s guilt. And I am sorry Nemeth did not follow your lead sooner to make peace with those who practice magic.”

“It was your choice to allow me to speak with Odin before you acted, as it is your decision to change the laws of your own kingdom. You’ll make a good ruler.”

Meliant’s cheeks pinked. The dark-haired young king cleared his throat and looked toward Merlin. “Thank you, Merlin, for exposing this plot. You’re not to blame because you didn’t discover it sooner.”

Merlin tried to respond graciously but nothing intelligible came out of his mouth.

“Do you still have that … thing?” Meliant questioned.

Merlin reached into his pouch where he had stowed the Eye of the Phoenix so no one could touch it. All eyes in the room fixed on the bright jewel-like stone.

“What will you do with it?” Meliant asked.

Uncertain, Merlin frowned down at the object in his hand. He could feel it pulsing with life, drawing into itself the life force of everything around, pulling at his own energy. He squeezed his fingers tightly around the Firebird, whispering an incantation as his eyes flashed. The pull faded away as the life force turned inward on itself, then he slowly opened his hand.

Mithian caught her breath.

On his palm sat an insect with a blue, tubular body the length of his palm, two pair of transparent, oval-shaped wings stretching out at right angles from the middle of its back, and a pair of bulbous eyes. Its six legs crooked outward as it perched unmoving on Merlin’s hand with a slight tickle, staring back with round unblinking eyes. Then its wings quivered and it flew over to land on Meliant’s chest, looking up at him with its long tail pointing to the ground.

He started in surprise and eyed the long, thin body nervously. “Does it sting?”

“No, it’s a dragonfly, it can’t bite a human being and it doesn’t have a stinger,” Merlin said.

Meliant sat unmoving as the dragonfly fixed its eyes on him as though it had a message to impart. Then it flew over to rest on Mithian’s arm. She stared back at the insect, apparently not the least bit repulsed by its intense gaze. Finally it lifted into the air again and soared higher until it darted from the room.

When Merlin took his eyes from where the dragonfly had disappeared, he caught Arthur regarding him with a curious look.

“What did you mean when you said you gave the other Eye of the Phoenix to the Fisher King? He had been dead for years.”

“He was alive when we got to the Dark Tower, alive and waiting.”

Merlin felt Gwaine’s sharp gaze fix on him.

Arthur looked askance. “Waiting?”

“Waiting for death, and to give me the gift,” Merlin said.

The king rolled his eyes at the cryptic explanation.

“What he gave me made it possible for me to get to the Cup of Life and empty it so the immortal army would be destroyed. In return, I gave him what he asked for – the Eye of the Phoenix – and he died.”

Arthur briefly rubbed his right wrist where he had worn the bracelet with the deadly charm. “When I crossed the bridge into the Fisher King’s lands, the little man who guards the bridge recognized the Eye but he never gave me any warning. He just chuckled to himself.”

Merlin’s brows drew together. “He must have thought you would be all right, or he knew it was important to bring the Firebird into the Perilous Lands. Maybe you were meant to bring it there and I was meant to have it when I found the Fisher King.”

“Strength and Magic,” Arthur said thoughtfully.

“What?” Merlin asked.

The king looked at Gwaine. “The Keeper of the Bridge, Grettir, he said I was Courage but I would need Strength and Magic.” Arthur looked at Merlin. “I guess we know who he meant by that now.”

Elena regarded Arthur with a knowing look. “Isn’t a quest supposed to be completed alone and unaided? To prove your worth as a future king?”

Flustered by the queen’s amusement, Arthur began to stammer a reply but Merlin cut him off.

“That’s a ridiculous rule. What kind of leader thinks he can rule alone and unaided?”

Arthur, Meliant, and Elena all looked at Merlin in amazement but Gwen smiled to herself and Gwaine laughed aloud. Merlin crossed his arms and looked back at them defiantly.

Arthur glanced at Gwen and then back at Merlin. “Point taken,” he said. Then he stood and faced Meliant. “By your leave, I would appreciate the opportunity to return to my chamber and clean up.”

Nemeth’s dark-haired king straightened in his chair. “Thank you again, Arthur.” He gave a respectful nod to both Arthur and Gwen. “I must speak with my Council, but I’ll attend you as far as the Great Hall. Any advice you can offer about how to ease the change of laws would be appreciated.”

Mithian joined Camelot’s king and queen as they accompanied Meliant out of the room, talking quietly together. Gwaine and Percival followed with the other knights. When Merlin turned to go with them, Elena called him back.

She had risen from her seat. Merlin looked down to confirm that despite her royal gown and beautifully-styled blonde hair she was shoeless. He hid his grin as he gave her a respectful bow.

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“I never thanked you for what you did in Camelot.”

Merlin gave her a shocked look.

She arched her brows in response. “Did you think I wouldn’t remember? It was quite an event in my life, to be rid of the Sidhe, having grown from infancy with that thing inside me.” Elena gave him a grateful smile. “I’m much better now. I feel like there had been a tug-of-war for control of myself, and now it’s just me. Except I’m not sure how much of who I am is because I had that other presence living in me all those years.”

Merlin could not stop himself from glancing at her bare feet when she admitted that. She smiled and tipped her head to the side.

“Is Grunhilda okay?” Elena asked. “Did she go back to wherever she came from when you destroyed the Sidhe that was possessing me?”

For a moment Merlin was at a loss to explain that he had annihilated the former nursemaid.

“She’s dead, isn’t she?” the queen sighed.

The sorcerer settled for a nod. He suppressed a shudder at the memory of the pixie who could only be stopped by several volleys of the Sidhe staff which had destroyed others with one blast.

“She would have fought to the death to protect her Sidhe master,” Elena continued sadly. “I like to think she cared for me, too; that a part of her had grown fond of me as she watched over me.”

Despite his doubts about the pixie’s good intentions towards Elena, Merlin made a sympathetic noise that he hoped assured the blonde queen of his agreement.

“She always gave me good advice. ‘Petal,’ she would say, ‘you know your father is doing what he thinks best.’ And it was true. He’s a good king and he was a loving father, especially when I was such a difficult child.” Elena smiled fondly. “I used to see things. I mean, when I looked at things I saw them the way everyone else does but then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw them the way the Sidhe see things. I could see the colours of magic.” The queen smiled at Merlin. “You had a beautiful rainbow around you. I can’t see it any more but I know it’s there.”

The sorcerer looked at her in astonishment.

“I miss those glimpses into the Otherworld. You are so fortunate to be able to see things like that all the time, things other people miss or sense only vaguely. Not that I want to have a fairy inside me again,” Elena hastened to add. “I really do thank you for releasing me. I could never decide if my thoughts were my own. The only times I was certain of myself were when I was riding. I believe that thing was afraid of horse riding; the Sidhe may know how to fly but they know nothing of how to ride a horse.”

“You’re welcome,” Merlin finally managed to say.

“Well, I assume Mithian is waiting for you.”

Merlin gave Elena another look of shock.

“Oh, I’m not supposed to mention that, am I?” Elena said, not sounding at all embarrassed. “Forget I said anything. Rodor’s funeral is tomorrow, but perhaps I’ll see you before then. Good night.”

“Good night, Your Highness,” Merlin collected himself enough to reply but she had already given him a smile and departed the room.

With a shake of his head at the queen’s forthrightness, wondering himself if being possessed by a Sidhe had changed Elena or if she would have been just as unconventional had she grown up normally, Merlin made his way to Mithian’s chambers.

As he expected, she was waiting for him. When their embrace finally ended, Merlin leaned back to look into her face. “How are you doing?”

“I miss Father terribly and I keep thinking it was a horrible way to die. Then I think he was already ill and maybe that thing only shortened his life by a few days, anyway, and then I think I would give anything for a few more days.” Mithian leaned her head against Merlin’s shoulder.

He wrapped his arms more tightly around her.

“At least I got to see him once more before he passed away. I will forever be thankful for that, and that he got to see Erec, if only that one time. I wish Father could have seen the next baby, as well.” Mithian raised her head to give Merlin a significant look.

He opened his mouth to say something comforting and then it hit him. He fixed his gaze on her flat stomach. “You mean ….”

She nodded and took his hand to lay it on her belly, holding her hand on top of his. “Is it wrong to be happy about that when Father is dead?”

“Of course not,” Merlin said. He tore his gaze away from their joined hands and looked into her eyes. “You can mourn your father and still be glad for life.”

“I’m glad you are here with me,” Mithian replied before she reached up to bring his head down to hers.

The kiss was more tender than passionate. When it ended, they held each other until Mithian spoke again.

“I’m glad Meliant has Elena to help him through this.” Mithian looked up at Merlin. “What is it Elena wanted to speak with you about?” she asked curiously.

“We were catching up on old times,” Merlin answered with a small smile.

Mithian frowned at him. “Were you the reason Arthur didn’t marry her, either?”

“No,” he denied, although a guilty flush crept up his face. “I may have suggested that he had a choice, that’s all.”

“But you didn’t go to quite the same lengths as you did to prevent my marrying him?” Mithian suggested shrewdly.

“I was occupied at the time with getting rid of the Sidhe that possessed her,” Merlin said defensively.

Mithian gave him a quizzical look. “I don’t know why I’m still surprised to hear stories like that.” A thoughtful expression came across her face. “Elena does seem different now. Our kingdoms are side by side so we saw each other regularly as we were growing up, despite how close Lord Godwyn was to Uther and the difference of opinion between Uther and Father about Gedref. Elena was the only one who could beat me in a horse race, and since we had both lost our mothers, well, I considered her a friend, even though I found her rather wild,” Mithian said. “Even now she’s a little strange. She can still out-ride me but she seems less outrageous and more at peace with herself.”

“I’m glad she’s happier now.”

“She has you to thank for that?” Mithian asked.

Merlin nodded.

“As long as she kept her thanks properly modest. She’s very pretty,” Mithian added in response to Merlin’s puzzled look.

A knowing smile spread across his face. “Yes, she is.”

“And married.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows. “I thought you said royal marriages were just for show.”

“I think my brother may have been exceedingly fortunate in his choice of bride,” Mithian said.

“If he is even half as grateful to have her as I am to be with you then he’s lucky indeed.”

Mithian smiled at the flattery and ran her hands up his back while she pressed closer. He bent down to kiss her, and this time it was filled with passion. When they broke apart her eyes had darkened and he reminded himself it was late and they were in her brother’s kingdom.

“I should go,” Merlin forced himself to say although he made no move to leave.

“Oh, Merlin, you don’t have to be so careful of my reputation. There’s no one left to fool and I cannot bear to be alone again tonight. Please stay.”

With those words she kissed him again and banished from his mind any thought of leaving.

~

The morning following Rodor’s burial dawned warm and sunny. The banners hung limply, the polished chain mail of Nemeth’s soldiers and Camelot’s knights reflected flashes of sunlight, and the jewels on the royals’ clothing glowed with multi-coloured sparkles.

King Meliant and Queen Elena stood at the centre of the assembly ranged along the citadel steps to bid a formal farewell to King Arthur and his retinue. Merlin noticed that in honour of the occasion Elena was wearing appropriate footwear, however she abandoned any trace of formality to throw her arms around Queen Guinevere.

“I’m glad Arthur married you and not me,” Elena whispered to Gwen. “He still looks at you the way he did that day.”

Gwen tried to hide her embarrassment as Nemeth’s new queen turned to hug Mithian.

“Good luck giving Arthur hunting lessons,” Elena said, causing Gwen to stifle a chuckle and Merlin to pretend his snort of laughter was a cough. “Invite me to visit when your baby is born,” Elena added with a wink at Merlin.

Arthur looked at Mithian in disbelief. “Another baby so soon? That one is still in swaddling.” He nodded at the nurse waiting patiently with the boy in her arms.

Gwen elbowed him in the ribs.

“Erec is almost nine months old,” Mithian said.

Gwaine gave Merlin a sly look which he studiously ignored.

Lastly Elena turned to Arthur and held out her hand.

Unsure whether she expected him to shake her hand or kiss it, Arthur finally bent to quickly brush his lips over her knuckles and murmur a farewell appropriate to a queen.

“You must visit us again, Arthur. It’s unfortunate there was no opportunity this time for me to beat you in a horse race.”

Pretending to pay no heed to the renewed snickers, Arthur turned to Meliant and grasped his outstretched arm.

“Thank you, Arthur, for keeping the peace. You have my undying support in your quest to unite all our lands in harmony and justice for all.” Meliant sent Merlin a significant look. Then, with a regal nod to Guinevere, Nemeth’s king turned to take his sister’s outstretched hand.

“Father would be proud of you. You’ll make a good king,” Mithian said quietly, squeezing his fingers.

“Thank you,” Meliant replied.

After the farewells they mounted. From the back of her horse, Mithian looked at her brother where he stood next to Elena. The queen waved, then grasped her husband’s hand. He looked down at her and she met his eyes, smiling. Mithian waved back.


	12. Winter, Sixth Year of Arthur’s Reign

Merlin kept his eyes on the plate of food in front of him on the laden banquet table. As tempting as the smells of roasted meat and freshly baked bread were, he had eaten little. Dozens of conversations from the long tables down every side of the room blended with the clinking of dishes into a cloud of noise punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter.

Merlin was comfortable enough at meetings of the Round Table, despite Aldric’s glares, but at feasts like this one it felt odd to be sitting at table – the king’s table, no less – rather than serving. Merlin was conscious of every hostile scowl sent his way: disdainful frowns from the nobles of the court who disagreed with the king’s tolerance for the company of common-born people, envious glances from some of Merlin’s former fellow servants, and fearful looks from a variety of people at the powerful sorcerer whose dark arts could supposedly smite armies.

He glanced to his left to confirm Arthur did not share his lack of appetite. The king’s plate had been filled yet again and Merlin did not doubt his friend would devour everything on it.

Gwen caught Merlin’s eye and gave him a friendly smile which he returned gratefully. The queen knew exactly how it felt to be plucked out of a comfortable life as one of a multitude of servants in the citadel, however hard the daily chores, and dropped into a spotlight dressed up in fancy clothes. Although Merlin had to admit his current clothing was a good deal more comfortable than the peasant garb Arthur refused to allow him to wear to banquets. Over the years Merlin privately thought Arthur’s expensive clothes were made out of flimsy cloth not useful enough to justify the cost, but the material did feel nice.

From beside Gwen, Mithian smiled warmly at him, completely at ease in front of the assembly of nobles and knights. Her dark hair was arranged in a cascade of loose curls and the silk of her green dress framed her breasts. The knot in his stomach eased. Looking at Mithian gave him courage to face a room full of frosty stares.

As Merlin returned his gaze to his own plate, Olwyne caught his glance. The man gave him a friendly nod at odds with the half fearful/half suspicious looks most of the nobles sent his way. Merlin felt the tension inside ease further at the overture. In the past several months the noble had grown considerably more at ease in Merlin’s presence and proved himself willing to set aside assumptions he had been raised with about both peasants and sorcerers.

King Arthur stood up to offer a toast. When Merlin reached for his cup, he noticed it was full to the brim even though it had been half empty the last time he set it down. Leaning forward, he looked sideways down the table and caught Gwaine’s wink and the amused smirks on both Percival and Leon that indicated they were complicit in the dark-haired knight’s attempt to get him drunk. He gave Gwaine a reproachful glance and got an unapologetic grin in response. The noise level sank as all those in the hall lifted their goblets.

“Samhain marks the beginning of another year, the beginning of the dark days of winter, and a time when we feel closest to the spirits of our ancestors. It is a time to celebrate the passing of those we have lost.” Arthur paused and met Guinevere’s eyes. “Our brothers, our fathers.” He gave Mithian a sympathetic look before he faced the room again. “All those we name in our hearts.”

The king raised his goblet and everyone followed suit, wine sloshing as some of the knights enthusiastically, or drunkenly, joined in the toast. Merlin took a deep drink, noting that Gwaine downed his entire cup almost in one gulp. Then Merlin’s eyes fell on the guard whispering urgently in Leon’s ear.

The First Knight dismissed the messenger with a grave expression, but did not interrupt the king’s speech. Once Arthur had sat down again and the revelers turned their attention back to the food and drink spread in front of them, Leon quietly approached the king.

Grim-faced, Arthur nodded at what his knight had whispered and gave orders that the Round Table should assemble.

~

“Queen Annis and King Gwynllyw have both confirmed this?” Arthur asked.

Leon nodded. “Caerleon’s scouts have been watching Rheged as have Daobeth’s from their side. They’ve seen what our own scouts saw: Urien’s forces are assembled at our northern border.”

“It’s been almost two years since he made his last assault with Alined’s backing, why now?” the king said. “Does he have allies?”

“Olaf assures us that Alined has made no effort to assemble his soldiers, nor have either Odin or Bayard given any indication of breaking their treaties with Camelot. The alliance with Meliant and Godwyn is solid,” Ector said. “None of them stand with Urien.”

Leon spoke gravely. “There have been sightings of the white dragon in Rheged.”

All eyes turned to him.

“The creature has caused no harm in Urien’s kingdom, but it attacked our northern outpost near Rheged’s border,” Leon continued. “Where that dragon is, Morgana is.”

“That could be the advantage he believes he has now,” Percival said.

Silently Merlin berated himself for not having ended Morgana’s bitter quest permanently before now. How many times had he defeated her but always stopped short of killing her, always held back, unwilling to be her executioner. He was haunted by the day he had looked her in the eye and seen utter betrayal when he acknowledged to her face that he had poisoned her deliberately. She had been crushed by the knowledge that he intended to kill her when she thought he was a friend. He had not set aside his guilt and far too many people had paid the price since then: people who had died in Morgana’s relentless assaults on Camelot, people who had been in her way, people she had used.

“All the information we have suggests Morgana has little support left,” Leon said. “The Saxons who aided her in Ismere have retreated to the southeast, and there are fewer and fewer reports of other sorcerers at her side.”

Arthur frowned. “She’s still a threat, more so if she has Rheged’s soldiers with her. Does Urien mean to attack?”

“Why else does one assemble and equip an army?” Ector said.

“I will meet with Urien to talk terms of peace.”

“Sire, do you really believe you can satisfy his desire for power with a treaty?” Leon asked.

The king looked him in the eye. “I have to try, but I will do so with an army at my back. We march north tomorrow.”

~

In spite of the fact that he needed to be ready for a long march the next day, Merlin was determined to fulfill one duty yet that night. He made his way out of Camelot, summoning a cold, blue light to his palm when the trees blocked the dim glow of the crescent moon, until he reached a clearing a short distance from the city walls. His breath was visible in the cold air when he called out.

Within moments the night air was disturbed by the flapping of gigantic wings as the Great Dragon landed gracefully on the forest floor, stirring the soggy, brown leaves. As he came to rest on his four powerful legs, Merlin winced to see that Kilgharrah’s left wing had further deteriorated.

“I have been expecting your call, Emrys. This is about the young dragon, is it not?”

“You know Aithusa is in league with Morgana,” Merlin said.

The dragon nodded his great head.

“Did you know Aithusa was responsible for saving Morgana’s life after we took Camelot back from her?”

“Yes, but I could not prevent the young one from aiding the witch any more than I could convince you not to save her when she was dying of her head injury.”

Merlin felt the sting of the chastisement for not letting Morgana die before she revealed her true loyalties. So much death and destruction could have been avoided if only he had been able to deal with his own remorse for what she had become. “Did you know they were both imprisoned by the Sarrum?”

Kilgharrah dipped his head sadly. “No, at the time I was not aware of the little one’s suffering or I would have aided her in some way. Now I fear she has come to trust the witch more than me.”

“I failed in my duties as a dragonlord, didn’t I? In whatever it is I was expected to do for the young dragon?”

“In times past the dragonlords helped and instructed each other, sharing what had been learned by previous generations. You are alone. But it is not too late to help Aithusa.”

“Will you be able to heal her and teach her to speak?”

“Between us we can mend her physical deformities, but her bond with the witch is strong.”

Merlin resolved to prove to the white dragon he could take care of her and she was not dependent on Morgana alone. He straightened his shoulders. “What do I do?”

“You only have to call her.”

“Will she come?”

“You called her from the egg, she will have to respond to you now.”

Merlin took a deep breath and used the same words he had used to summon Kilgharrah, but this time he concentrated on Aithusa, then he waited. Several moments passed and he looked questioningly at the Great Dragon, but Kilgharrah signalled patience. Shortly they heard the squawking shriek that announced the white dragon’s arrival and the air was stirred by a pair of strong wings. The flurry was quieter than the windstorm kicked up by the larger dragon’s landing.

After the white dragon settled to the ground, she gave them both an anxious look as though uncertain whether they meant her harm.

Merlin took a step closer and she opened her mouth to spout flame before thinking better of such an action.

She dropped her head submissively as he came closer, his hand stretched out to her.

“It’s all right,” he said reassuringly.

She took a few limping steps towards him. Now that he had time to really look, it appeared that her right wing was misshapen and the front leg on that side was stunted. The back leg had an odd twist. Her skin seemed to have a sickly pallor although it was difficult to tell against the white colour.

When Merlin was close enough, he patted her head and she allowed him to touch her, giving him a mournful look that renewed his guilt at having neglected her until now. At the physical contact he began to sense that she was speaking, although not in words. He felt intense loneliness, and the despair of a creature meant to soar through the sky confined instead in a dark pit, unable to move. He also felt the strength of attachment to Morgana and a kinship with her loneliness and feeling of being trapped. His own memories flooded him of the woman who had risked her safety to journey with him to his village and fight bandits, who had bravely confronted the Afanc with Arthur, mourned with Gwen over her father’s death, and begged to be left alone in the Druid camp where she had learned for certain of her magic.

Alarmed, Merlin took his hand away from Aithusa, instantly interrupting the flow of emotions. He forcibly reminded himself that Morgana had since allowed her fear and hate to turn her into someone bent on destroying anyone and anything standing between her and total control of the kingdom she thought belonged to her. Including numerous attempts to kill Arthur who had done her no wrong except be ignorant of her fear.

The white dragon was looking at him mournfully.

“I don’t blame you for befriending Morgana, and I’m sorry I haven’t taken proper care of you.” Merlin looked at the Kilgharrah. “Can you heal her leg and wing?”

“Bring her closer.”

The sorcerer motioned to Aithusa to approach the Great Dragon, but she shook her head, dipping her long neck close to the earth and peering up at him. The dragonlord wondered if he should order her to move or attempt to persuade her more gently. Finally, he held out his hand again. “Come,” he coaxed.

Her head remained close to the ground with her eyes fixed on him, but she sidled closer to the night-coloured dragon who dwarfed her in size.

“Come on,” Merlin encouraged and she sidled closer again.

When she was nearly under Kilgharrah’s nose but not touching his front legs, she stopped and looked up at the Great Dragon.

Slowly, he leaned his head closer and opened his great jaw, then he released a blast of magic so powerful Merlin thought sparkles danced in the air of his breath.

Aithusa closed her eyes and whimpered in pain but her right wing gradually straightened, her front leg grew a bit longer, and her back leg straightened.

Kilgharrah paused to examine the smaller dragon.

Merlin thought she still looked haggard but more balanced.

She opened her eyes and gave them both a reproachful look, then took a few tentative steps. The limp was much less noticeable.

“I have to return to Camelot, and I cannot allow Aithusa to go back to Morgana. Will you watch over her?” Merlin asked.

“I am not long for this world, Emrys, but I can promise that as long as I am alive I will keep the little one with me. This last time I will be of help to you.”

Merlin felt a tightness inside his chest when he recalled what the Great Dragon had said the last time they spoke. “How do I take care of Aithusa when you’re gone?”

“Call her, speak with her. She will be the last of her kind, yet she will live for hundreds of years. Remind her she was here to see the birth of Albion, a bright shining kingdom of peace where magic is free, which will be treasured in people’s minds for centuries.”

“We haven’t got there yet. Even now an army is marching toward Camelot intending to tear apart what Arthur has built, to destroy the bridges he has made with the other kingdoms,” Merlin said.

“Then tell her how long and hard so many have worked to build that world.”

“Will we be successful?”

“Be assured of one thing, there was never anyone more capable than you, young warlock.”

Merlin felt a stab of apprehension; what did that really mean?

Without another word, the Great Dragon fixed a look on the smaller dragon, then lifted his huge bulk into the sky, sending deadfall scattering from beneath him in the wind of his passing. Merlin shivered in the cold breeze. With a final nervous glance at him, Aithusa spread her wings and followed.

The sky was faintly lighter on the eastern horizon and Merlin sighed. He would get little sleep before the next day’s march.

~

“Arthur.”

The king reined in his horse when Merlin rode up next to him. The knights followed suit, passing the word back along the ranks to halt their forward march.

They had left the heavily forested area and the trees here were shorter as well as further apart, barren of leaves in the winter cold, and the undergrowth was brown and soggy. Arthur knew the terrain in front of them should be open plain but it was shrouded in mist. A heavy dampness in the air filtered the sunlight, making it dim as well as silent in the valley below.

Arthur listened carefully but there was nothing to indicate Urien’s forces were close by. He was about to give the order to continue when Merlin spoke again.

“It’s magic,” he warned.

“It’s fog,” Arthur contradicted, his breath visible in the cool air.

Merlin shook his head, and the king watched the sorcerer stretch out his palm, muttering under his breath as his eyes glowed. A strong wind grew in front of them, swirling up damp leaves and small branches as it gained strength, then Merlin gestured as though pushing the air forward. The wind cut through the fog, clearing a path through the valley stretched out below.

When the mists parted, Arthur heard hooves stamp and weapons rattle, the sounds clearly coming from the open plains they had nearly ridden directly into. He watched as Merlin stretched both arms out in front of himself, then spread them wide. On cue, the heavy winds cut across the open valley, sweeping back the fog to both sides of the plain, giving Arthur a clear view of the enemy troops in wait below them. The fog curled back on itself, shrouding Arthur’s forces in the mists which had formerly concealed Urien’s men.

Their double advantage of concealment and surprise gone, the Rheged knights shouted and charged in the general direction of Arthur’s troops.

Silently, Arthur signalled Leon to divide their forces so they could outflank the enemy while Arthur led his core of fighters to meet the coming onslaught.

~

Merlin’s heart leapt into his throat as it always did when Arthur charged into battle, but the sorcerer concentrated on locating Morgana or whoever was responsible for summoning the fog cover. His eyes on the fighting in the open valley below, Merlin was caught off guard by a blast of magic that pulled him from his mount and threw him backward several paces. His head grazed the rough bark of a tree stump. His horse whinnied in protest and bolted.

Thankful he had not been knocked unconscious, Merlin looked up from where he had landed on the cold, wet ground. A large man stared down at him, his face completely concealed by the hood of the black cloak he wore.

“You must be the great Emrys my lady Morgana has told me about.” As he spoke, the man lifted his hands to pull back his hood to reveal a bald head marked by a Druid tattoo on his thick neck and a derisive sneer on his face.

“Morgana is wrong to continue this battle with Arthur for the throne of Camelot,” Merlin said, staring up at the man. “All she accomplishes is to fan the fear people have of us. We will never achieve peace if we exchange Uther’s tyranny for Morgana’s. Arthur is our only hope to bring about a new world, a world we dream of.”

The heavyset man snorted in response, the heat of his breath fogging the cool air. “Your king tolerates us, no more than that. My family will live in a kingdom ruled by a sorceress who understands what it is to have magic, who will bring back the old ways.”

“No!” Merlin said. “Arthur will create a new world where we can live in peace.”

“Peace is enforced by power, and I have been entrusted with the task of ensuring you do not use the power you were mistakenly given to hinder my lady Morgana’s plans.”

With those words, the blade Ari had concealed in his heavy cloak hurtled itself at Merlin with a speed greater than any human hand could have thrown it. Merlin raised his palm and the blade stopped in mid-air, then spun around and rushed back at the large man even faster than before.

Ari had barely time to deflect the weapon, allowing it to embed itself in the moss-covered trunk of a nearby tree. The black-cloaked man smiled, although it did nothing to lessen his sinister expression. “So the tales are not entirely without merit.”

Ari’s eyes flashed and a bolt of flame exploded from his outstretched arm.

Merlin held up a hand, palm out, and the bolt of flame crashed into an invisible barrier before it deflected into the barren branches of a nearby bush causing an explosion of sparks which fizzled out on the damp ground. He got slowly to his feet without breaking eye contact, prepared for the next attack. “You can stop this now,” he warned.

The smile faltered but in answer Ari began a chant. The air in front of him shimmered as though it were the heat of summer, a column of air rising slowly as he continued his incantation. A tiny whirlwind of soggy brown leaves and sticks formed below.

Merlin spoke his own incantation, his eyes flashing gold. The whirlwind exploded outward and he felt warm wind rush past his cheek.

“Leave now, tell Morgana to face me herself,” Merlin demanded.

Ari was no longer smiling; a trickle of sweat ran down his bald head. He reached into a pouch at his waist to withdraw something which could have been a smooth pebble except for the sparks buried in its depths, tiny flashes of red and purple. As Ari began an incantation, a glowing ball of flame formed around the pebble on his palm, crackling with energy. Then Ari tossed the pebble in the air, chanting his incantation, and the flaming ball launched itself at Merlin.

In response, the sorcerer caught it.

Ari’s eyes grew wide as the ball increased in brightness before it came racing back at him. When it struck, the impact sent him flying backward to land on the damp ground, his cloak charred and smoking. He did not move again.

Merlin stared down at the dead man, about to lower his arm, when he heard someone approach from behind him. He spun around and the knight stopped dead.

“Gwaine!” Merlin relaxed his defensive posture.

“We heard loud noises and saw flashes of fire,” the dark-haired knight said gruffly, his eyes going to the body on the ground.

Merlin frowned. “You should be protecting Arthur. The battle –”

“Finished,” Gwaine said. He tossed his hair back over his shoulder and nodded behind him.

When Merlin looked down the sloping ground to the open plain below, he saw red-cloaked Camelot knights combing the field for wounded soldiers. There were many more fallen bodies with Rheged’s silver wolf than there were red shields with the golden dragon.

“We won,” Gwaine added unnecessarily. He looked over at the heavy-set man whose black cloak was smouldering. “I guess you did, too.”

Merlin met the knight’s grin with a small smile that did not touch his eyes. Gwaine put his arm around the younger man and steered him toward the plain below.

~

After Merlin had done what he could to treat the injured, he joined Arthur and the knights at the temporary command tent they had set up. The bright daylight had faded and the sky in the west was pink.

Gwaine and Percival were cleaning their weapons. Leon was reciting to the king each knight dead or wounded as well as the number of enemy soldiers killed and wounded. King Urien had not been with his troop, nor had his son. No one had seen Morgana.

“Our scouts just returned,” Leon said. “No other troop has crossed the border into Camelot. In fact King Urien and the remainder of his forces are withdrawing inside Rheged’s borders.”

“After just one battle?” Arthur inquired in puzzlement.

“It appears so,” Leon answered although he, too, appeared uneasy.

“We showed them what they’re up against and they know they can’t beat us,” Gwaine boasted.

Percival rolled his eyes.

“It was too easy,” Arthur said.

“Easy?” Gwaine protested. “I’ll have you know –”

The king shook his head. “It was a test of our defences.”

Leon frowned. “Surely they didn’t need to engage in battle merely to determine our strength.”

“A test of _all_ our defences,” Arthur said, looking at Merlin.

Leon, Gwaine, and Percival also turned to look at the sorcerer who stared back at the king, puzzled.

“From what you said, that man in the black cloak was a powerful sorcerer and he was allied with Morgana. She was using him to test you.”

She had sent her most powerful ally, arming him with an enchantment to use if his own magic was not enough to defeat Emrys.

“It has been just over a year since she discovered who you are, and she needed to see what you can do. That’s also why the white dragon attacked our northern outpost,” Arthur continued.

“The dragon is no longer with Morgana,” Merlin said.

The king digested that piece of information.

“And her sorcerer is dead,” Leon said. “The question is, what will she do now?”

“We have no choice but to return to Camelot and wait for either Urien or Morgana to make another move. We will reinforce all the garrisons near Rheged, but I will not attack his kingdom and allow him to claim we are the aggressors. I can accuse him of harbouring Morgana but he can simply deny her presence or refuse to answer my demand.”

“I say we march into Rheged, wipe out Urien’s army, and deal with Morgana the same way she dealt with us.” Gwaine held up his cleaned and sharpened blade.

“Morgana would elude us as she always does and the bloodshed would be pointless,” Arthur said.

“It would end Urien’s ambitions to take Camelot,” Leon said.

“I seek to end this in a way that we can live peaceably afterward. I will not repay tyranny, greed, and spite with the same. When we fight, it will be with honour and pride for the future of Camelot, the future of Albion.”

When Arthur spoke like that, Merlin knew the king would accomplish everything the prophecies spoke of: a land united in lasting peace, a just and fair kingdom for all. That was why the people of Camelot revered him with a devotion they had never shown to Uther. They had believed Uther to be a strong king, yet there had always been a current of fear, even among those who did not possess magic. That was also why rulers who had been reigning over kingdoms when Arthur was a babe followed his lead despite his relative youth; not because they feared to face him in battle, but because they believed him to be worthy of their faith and trust.

Merlin saw the same reverent looks on the faces of the knights as he wore himself. They also believed Arthur would unite the kingdoms in a peace that would last, free of oppression, although for Merlin the wait had been so much longer.

Leon gave Arthur a deeply respectful bow before he left to pass along the orders to strike camp in the morning and return to Camelot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to every person who left kudos or comments - I appreciate them all.


	13. Spring, Sixth Year of Arthur’s Reign

“This is a nice spot,” Gwen said.

She reined in her horse when the group reached a grassy area mostly clear of undergrowth and fallen tree branches. A clump of tiny yellow flowers and a bush covered in purple blossoms sent competing scents into the air.

“Looks lovely,” Mithian agreed.

“Then here it shall be.” Arthur smiled indulgently at Gwen and motioned George to lay out the blanket and cushions in the spot she had chosen.

The two guards who accompanied them quietly took up positions where they could unobtrusively ensure the king’s safety.

Merlin dismounted before reaching up to lift Erec off the horse. By the time he had done so, Gwen was waiting beside him. He handed the toddler to the queen who made funny noises and faces at the little boy, delighted by his laughter.

Merlin assisted Mithian to dismount, holding her only a bit longer than was necessary to lift her down from the horse along with the tightly wrapped bundle she carried. The baby girl grunted before settling back to sleep.

Arthur watched Guinevere amuse the giggling boy. “This really is the most perfect spot, is it not?” Arthur asked, although his eyes were fixed on his wife. “I sometimes forget how beautiful Camelot is, but never how beautiful my queen is.”

Gwen laughed self-consciously but she returned his affectionate look.

Merlin snorted and got a sharp glance from Mithian.

Arthur pinned him with a look. “Was that rude noise you, Merlin?”

In defense, Merlin pointed to Mithian’s horse.

The king grinned but his eyes glinted. “Don’t you think Guinevere is beautiful?”

“I never noticed,” Merlin said quickly, glancing at Mithian.

Arthur’s grin widened. “Who do you think is the most beautiful girl here?”

Merlin’s glance slid from Mithian to Gwen to find both of them watching him with interest. Then he smiled. “Niniane.”

At the sound of her name the baby girl hiccupped and both women turned their attention to her.

Gwen brought Erec closer to Mithian and the baby. “Don’t you think your sister is the most beautiful girl?” the queen cooed.

“Of course he does,” Mithian said.

George laid out cushions for them to sit on and Arthur dropped onto a seat only to land on the hard ground covered with just the thin blanket. He moved over onto the pillow to find that again it was not under him when he sat. He was about to move one more time when his eyes jumped to Merlin and caught the amused look on the sorcerer’s face.

With an innocent expression, Merlin pretended to get something from his saddlebag. He looked up to see the cushion sailing at his head and ducked. The pillow flew over him to land in the bushes several paces away.

“And you can go pick it up,” Arthur commanded.

Merlin sauntered into the woods. As he bent down to retrieve the cushion from under a tree, his eyes fell on a large section of bark which had been burnt away. The vine wrapped around the trunk was scorched black and beginning to shrivel. Staring at the oddly damaged tree, he made no move to pick up the pillow.

“Are you blind?” Arthur called impatiently.

“Something happened here,” Merlin said, running his hand over the trunk and sensing the residue of power.

“Stags, marking their territory,” Arthur said, barely glancing at the tree.

“No, this was caused by magic.”

“Who knows more about hunting, me or you? It’s rutting season, half the trees in the forest look like that.”

Merlin looked back over his shoulder. “Who knows more about magic, me or you?”

Arthur looked as if he wanted to come up with a sharp retort but he said nothing as he came closer to examine the tree.

Standing, Merlin looked into the forest, feeling for more traces of powerful magic. Abruptly he strode forward, finding another damaged trunk with the same torn, scorched bark. A few steps behind, Arthur followed as Merlin moved unerringly from one burnt trunk to another, his eyes flashing gold.

“How do you –” Arthur began before he simply shook his head.

When Merlin stopped, the king came to stand beside him and followed the direction of the sorcerer’s gaze. A handcart was overturned, also scorched, with one wheel laying a good distance away and blackened as though burnt in a fire.

“Something terrible happened,” Merlin said, half to himself. He had a sense that someone had been ambushed and had fled for his life, dodging blasts of powerful magic as he ran through the forest. “Morgana.”

Arthur looked sharply at him. “Where?”

“I don’t think she’s still here. She must have succeeded.”

“In what?”

“I don’t know for certain, but it feels like Morgana was intent on stopping someone from getting to Camelot.”

Arthur glanced up past the treetops. “We are nearly within sight of the city.”

“He almost made it.” Merlin searched the forest around them, but there was no sign of anyone now.

“Here,” Arthur called back to the two guards who had followed him, indicating the ruined conveyance and its contents.

Merlin examined the scattered items but it was apparent the owner had lived simply. There was nothing except a few foodstuffs and one plain tunic strewn across the forest floor, nothing to identify the owner or his purpose. The cart itself had odd markings down the side which appeared to be writing but in a language the sorcerer did not recognize. He stepped aside when the guards gathered the items to carry them back to Camelot for closer inspection.

When Arthur and Merlin returned to the picnic area, Gwen and Mithian were waiting anxiously. Mithian gave Merlin a questioning look.

“Something terrible happened in the woods here recently, maybe even last night,” he said.

“We need to return to the city,” Arthur said. He took Guinevere’s hand. “I am sorry.”

~

When they arrived back in Camelot, they found a courtyard full of people carrying everything they owned in bundles and small carts, their clothes dirty and their faces gaunt. Several had dropped tiredly to the flagstones, some were being supported by their companions. A baby cried and another voice tried tiredly to shush it. The babble of voices included tongues Merlin was not familiar with.

“What happened?” the king asked, looking around in consternation.

Leon came forward. “They came seeking sanctuary, fleeing over the border from Daobeth.”

“Has Urien attacked Gwynllyw’s kingdom, then?”

“They are not from Daobeth, they fled Helva.”

Arthur looked around at the crowd which filled the citadel courtyard. “These refugees are from Helva?”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Why come all the way here?”

Leon appeared perplexed. “They keep referring to a person named Emrys they believe will protect them, but they cannot tell us anything about him except that he’s destined to be Morgana’s doom.”

Merlin caught his breath. Arthur glanced over his shoulder at the sorcerer.

Leon, who had directed his gaze out across the frightened and weary collection of people, missed the interchange. “They say it was Morgana who struck the city.”

Arthur glanced around, then signalled that they would continue their conversation in the privacy of the citadel throne room.

Gwen and Mithian dismounted to see to the needs of the refugees while George took charge of both children, hurrying them into the citadel. Merlin’s eyes met Mithian’s, exchanging a solemn look. The queen sent Arthur an inquiring glance but he silently shook his head.

Once Leon, Gwaine, Percival, and the head of the guards were gathered in the throne room with Arthur and Merlin, the doors were sealed. The king turned to Leon.

“What do we know?” he asked.

“A few days ago the city of Helva was attacked. At first, we assumed it was Urien, but the refugees tell a different story. They say Morgana and a handful of followers descended on the city without warning, apparently with a specific target in mind but no one knows what it was. Half the settlement was destroyed, and those who were left homeless but able to travel made their way to us. We keep telling them there’s no Emrys here, but they insist he’s the only one who can assure their safety.”

“Help them find whatever shelter is available and make sure everyone is fed,” the king said. “Strengthen the garrison on our northern border and send word to King Gwynllyw, find out if he has suffered any aggression or if he needs reinforcements from us.”

Once Leon and the knights left to carry out their orders, Arthur turned to Merlin.

“Why would Morgana attack Helva?” the king wondered aloud. “It’s one of the few places magic has long been practiced freely, many of the residents are sorcerers, why attack her own? It makes no sense.”

“She was looking for something,” Merlin said uneasily.

“But what?” Arthur asked softly, although Merlin knew he did not expect an answer. “I told them to take the items we found with the ruined cart to Gaius, perhaps he can tell us something.”

~

 

When Merlin arrived in the physician’s chamber with Arthur, Gaius looked up from his work bench, pieces of parchment scattered on the table in front of him.

“Gaius?” the king asked.

The physician set down the glass he used for close work, which the old man needed to use more often as his eyesight grew weaker. Daegal stepped forward to collect the magnifying glass and set it carefully in its place.

Gaius gave the boy a grateful glance before holding up one torn piece of parchment. “The writing is in Catha, but I was able to identify the signature on this letter.” The old man looked significantly at Merlin. “It bears the name ‘Alator’.”

Tormented by an image of the Catha priest running through the woods toward Camelot, dodging Morgana’s attack, Merlin stared back. “Alator must have known what Morgana was after when she attacked Helva. He tried to get to me.”

“Apparently she stopped him,” Gaius said.

Arthur looked from one to the other. “Who is Alator?”

Both Merlin and Gaius drew breath to answer, then looked at each other in consternation, at a loss to explain how Alator was the man responsible for torturing Gaius but would risk his life to get a message to them.

“A friend,” Merlin summed up, relieved when Arthur seemed satisfied with that answer.

“We’ll spend the rest of the day getting all the information we can from the refugees,” the king said. “Gaius, continue your examination of these items, perhaps there will be more clues to what the man was trying to tell us. The Round Table will meet in the morning.”

Merlin and Gaius indicated their understanding and Arthur left them to study Alator’s possessions.

~

A short time later, not having learned anything more about Alator’s aborted attempt to reach Camelot, Merlin crossed the citadel courtyard. He wove through people eating or asleep on the cobblestones, all that was left of their possessions piled at their feet. Some shivered despite the sun’s warmth beating down on the courtyard. All of them looked bone-weary from days of foot travel and several were attacking their food as if they had not eaten in all that time. Children huddled in groups, the older ones caring for the younger.

As Merlin stepped around a cloaked figure sitting alone, a hand reached out to grab his tunic. Surprised, he looked down to see the face barely visible under a tattered green hood.

“Sefa!” he exclaimed.

“Shhh!” she whispered, peering around anxiously.

He offered a hand to help her to her feet and guided her in the direction of the well only to duck into an alcove where they were mostly hidden from view.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She had a haunted look in her eyes that had not been there during the years she worked in the palace. Her reddish-brown hair which used to escape her braid to becomingly frame her face with limp curls was now a tangled nest without any semblance of care. She was noticeably thinner under the ragged cloak, her cheeks were hollowed, and there were dark patches under her eyes.

She frowned but nodded. “They distributed some food.”

“Why are you afraid?” Merlin questioned.

She gave him an indignant look. “I’m a traitor here. You must know I was sentenced to death.”

“Gwen never intended to execute you, Sefa,” Merlin explained gently. “It was a trap to draw your father here.”

Shock was followed by an expression of horrified understanding. “Well, it worked then, didn’t it? He came for me and he died.”

“He would have seen us all dead, Sefa,” Merlin said. “He was responsible for Morgana’s assault on our troop. He was using you.”

“He was my father!” she hissed. “He loved me. Do not presume to know him or his motives!”

“I’m sorry, Sefa,” Merlin said. “But what are you doing here? Didn’t you return to the Druids after Ruadan’s death?”

“When my father chose to take up arms he trespassed against the Druid customs,” Sefa explained bitterly. “We were no longer welcome within the community.”

“Where did you go, then?”

“I ran. I didn’t know where I was going, I simply fled Camelot. I had nowhere to go and no one to turn to.” Sefa bowed her head to stare at the ground. “Finally I ended up in Helva.”

“You were there when Morgana attacked?”

“Yes,” she answered, still staring at the paving stones.

Merlin looked down at the bent head. The red gleam which used to highlight her hair was obscured by dried mud and several tiny twigs were ensnared in the knotted strands. “Do you need somewhere to stay?”

Her eyes met his then. “Yes.”

“Come with me. We can find a place where you can wash and get some food and rest.”

She gave him a weak smile. “Thank you, Merlin.”

~

By the next morning, the Round Table was assembled and had pieced together various accounts of what had happened in the past few days. However, the mystery of why Morgana had initiated the assault on Helva remained unsolved. None were left alive who had been directly in Morgana’s path, despite the fact that many of them were also sorcerers. The ones who had survived and fled told conflicting stories, if they had seen the High Priestess at all.

Arthur drummed his fingers on the table. “There’s nothing we can do except wait for Morgana’s next move.”

Before he could dismiss his advisers, one of the palace guards strode into the room unannounced.

The guard walked directly to the king without acknowledging Sir Leon as would have been proper protocol.

“Sire,” the man said. “There is a woman who wishes to speak with you.”

“Who is she?” Arthur asked.

The man had a blank expression. “I don’t know.”

Merlin looked at the man sharply.

“What does she want?” the king inquired.

“I don’t know,” the guard answered.

Arthur glanced around the table but everyone seemed as baffled as he was by the cryptic message and the guard’s strange behaviour. “What made you interrupt this meeting to bring me such a message?”

“She told me to.”

Arthur’s brows rose. “She told you to, therefore it was urgent enough to interrupt us?”

“She told me to find Emrys, and when I explained there was no such person here, she told me to go directly to the king.”

Before Merlin could react, the doors to the hall swung inward to reveal a woman in a blue woolen cloak poised in the entryway, her face concealed by an enveloping hood. The guards in the corridor remained standing at their posts as if there was nothing unusual in a strange woman entering the king’s Privy Council unescorted. Not one of them challenged her or reached for a weapon, their expressions blank as if they had been enchanted.

Several knights leapt to their feet but Arthur waved them back. He stood to approach the woman with Merlin at his side. Gwaine watched her narrowly but she merely waited patiently in the chamber entrance for the king to reach her.

The woman pulled back the hood of her blue cloak and Merlin saw a lined face framed by a black headscarf from which several strands of greying dark brown hair had escaped. Her clothes were simple but in good repair and splattered with mud as though she had travelled a long distance.

Her eyes skipped over the king and landed on Merlin, then she sank to one knee with her head bowed. “Great One,” she said.

Several of the knights stared open-mouthed, Geoffrey looked scandalized, Aldric looked infuriated, and Ector wore a baffled expression.

His cheeks burning, Merlin indicated she should get to her feet. “Please, that’s not necessary.”

The woman stood but kept her eyes fixed on him. “It is an honour to meet you, Emrys.”

“How do you know my name?” he asked.

“From my master, Alator of the Catha,” she said.

“Is he all right?”

The woman shook her head sadly. “Morgana caught him before he could give you the message. He is dead.”

Beside Merlin, Arthur cleared his throat. “I am Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot.”

The woman’s eyes flicked to him. “I have heard of you.” Then she returned her attention to Merlin. “The great battle nears, the fate of Albion hangs in the balance.”

Arthur’s brows drew together. “Who are you and what do you do here?”

She looked back at the king. “My name is Finna, and I’m here to deliver the warning Alator was not able to give you. I know what Morgana took from Helva.” Finna turned her gaze back to Merlin. “If the Great Emrys would grant me an audience.”

Feeling his cheeks grow hot again, Merlin flashed a bemused glance at Arthur.

“Fine,” the king decreed as if the woman had asked for his permission. “The guards will escort you to the audience chamber. We will meet you there directly.”

Finna gave him a nod of acknowledgement and after a deeper, more respectful bow to Merlin, she followed a guard from the hall.

Gwaine watched her leave and then fixed his eyes on Merlin, brows raised.

“Do you know her?” Arthur asked Merlin.

“No, I ‘ve never met her before.”

“So for all we know she’s in league with Morgana,” Arthur said.

“We can trust her,” Merlin said.

The king looked at him. “How can you know that?”

For a moment Merlin hesitated, then he said simply, “I looked into her eyes. She’s telling the truth.”

“Sire.” Aldric’s raised voice drew all eyes to him. “She is a sorceress, you cannot trust her. Do not listen to anything she has to say.”

Although the old knight addressed the king, Merlin felt the man’s one good eye bore into him with a burning hatred.

“If she meant us harm, she could have done so already,” Ector said. “You should hear her out.”

Arthur turned to the Court Physician. “Gaius, what do you know about this woman?”

The physician remained seated in his place at the Round Table, hands crossed in front of him as he watched the proceedings with interest. “When she removed her hood, her sleeve fell back and I saw a mark on her arm. She is one of the Bendrui.”

“What is that?” Merlin asked, curious.

“Before the Great Purge, girls would be chosen at birth to train for the priesthood. They would be taken away from their families and brought up as initiates in the Old Religion.”

“I thought Morgana was the only High Priestess left?” Leon asked.

“Many tried but few succeeded, for ordinary gifts were not enough; only those possessed of exceptional magical power could ever hope to be one of the Nine,” Gaius explained. “But do not doubt her abilities; all Bendrui are practiced in potent magic.”

“So we saw,” Arthur said, indicating the soldier who had followed the woman’s orders without question and the guards who had been oblivious to her. He regarded Merlin appraisingly. “Since when does anyone bow to you?”

“Do you mean people, or anyone?” Merlin asked. “Because actually the first one to bow to me was the Great Dragon.”

The expression on Arthur’s face was comical. “Dragon?”

Merlin tipped his head to the side. “But then I ordered him to, so maybe that doesn’t count.” Doing his best not to laugh outright at the king’s complete astonishment, Merlin gestured at the corridor where Finna had disappeared. “We should hear what Finna has to say.”

 “Gaius, come with us, we’re going to speak with this woman,” the king ordered. “Leon, find out everything you can about her. We will meet again after I’ve spoken with her.”

Smiling to himself, Merlin waited for Arthur to lead the way from the Great Hall to the chamber where Finna waited.

At their entrance, she almost knelt again but Merlin shook his head. The woman waited patiently until the king, Gaius, and Merlin had joined her in the room and a guard closed the door behind them. Then she reached into a pouch tied at her waist and removed an elaborately engraved silver vial.

“Do you know what this is?” Finna asked, her sharp eyes fixed on Gaius.

The old man lifted his gaze from the vial to her face. “Yes.”

“Do not be concerned, this one is empty, it has never been used,” the woman said.

Merlin wondered at the relief in his mentor’s face. “What is it?” he asked them both.

“It’s what Morgana took from Helva, isn’t it?” Gaius said to Finna.

She nodded gravely.

The physician sighed deeply and briefly closed his eyes. He looked at Merlin. “It’s an elixir administered in rare situations when one chooses to renounce the gift he was granted or when one is judged to be unworthy of having such a gift.”

As explanations went, that was as useful as something Kilgharrah would say.

“This elixir takes decades to create and is guarded carefully by those responsible for its administration,” Gaius went on.

Both Arthur and Merlin gave the physician an impatient look.

“It is used to take away someone’s magic,” Gaius finally divulged with a stricken look at Merlin.

Suddenly, it all made sense. Morgana had decided she could not defeat him in an open confrontation and she had torn apart Helva to get her hands on this elixir so she could remove Emrys from standing between her and the throne of Camelot. His eyes met Finna’s.

“The great battle is coming, the final battle that will end in the creation of Albion or the fall of Camelot,” Finna pronounced. “Morgana is aware of this, and that the key to Arthur’s defeat is Emrys. She believes Arthur is nothing without Emrys and Emrys is nothing without magic.”

Merlin stared at her, his heart beating rapidly.

“You must be on your guard, Emrys,” Finna advised. “Someone will betray you.”

“How will we identify this person?” Arthur demanded. “The city is full of refugees right now, any one of them might have the elixir.”

“You have only to find another vial that resembles this one. There will not be another like it,” Finna said.

The king gave her an irritated look. “They could easily have decanted the elixir into another container by this time.”

“No, Sire,” Gaius put in. “They would not risk losing a drop, plus the container itself has special properties. In any other bottle the elixir will lose its potency. As I said, it is carefully guarded and these safeguards discourage theft.”

Arthur looked from the physician to the vial Finna held. “So we search everyone?”

“And advise everyone you trust to be alert for the vial,” Gaius said.

With a look of chagrin at the enormity of the task, the king marched out of the room calling for the knights and issuing orders.

At his departure, Merlin looked at Gaius and Finna.

“Why would such a potion ever be made? What purpose could it serve?”

The physician laid a hand on the younger man’s arm. “Even before the Great Purge, people were not always comfortable around those who had magic. It was not unusual for someone with such a gift to be ostracized by a community, and at times there were people who chose to give up their magic to be welcomed back into their family or village.”

Merlin shuddered at the thought of willingly giving up magic. At his most lonely times in Ealdor, when he knew the worry lines etched on his mother’s face were a result of his presence, even when he felt like an outcast in his own village for his strangeness, he had never wished to be rid of his magic.

“There were also those who abused their power in such a way that the elixir was administered as a judgement,” Finna said. “Its effects are irreversible.”

Merlin winced. He had temporarily suppressed Morgana’s magic before she and Helios could kill Arthur, but that dark enchantment had left a scar on his soul. How could anyone justify assigning such a harsh judgement to another sorcerer?

~

“You have searched all of the refugees?” Arthur asked.

Leon nodded. “All who took shelter in Camelot, as well as any who come and go through the gate to the lower town. None of them possesses a vial like the one you showed us. We have also turned the citadel upside down but have not discovered any sign of the elixir.”

“Well, we didn’t expect it to be easy. We know the vial had to have been delivered in the last few days. Concentrate on any other newcomers who have been in the city less than a week and search the inns again.”

“Yes, Sire,” Leon acknowledged. With a nod, he left the throne room to continue the search.

~

Merlin found Sefa waiting for him in the crowded marketplace, a cloak wrapped around her shoulders despite the warmth of the spring sunshine. The note he had received that morning was the third time she had contacted him since she arrived a week ago, but the first time he had responded. He had not seen her since he brought her to the Rising Sun hoping she would find a place to live and work where she could earn a decent meal and comfortable lodging.

Her cheeks were not as hollow as when she arrived in Camelot but the dark circles remained under her eyes.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Fine, although everyone in the inn is growing weary of being searched. What are they looking for, anyway?”

“I understand something was stolen from Helva. It must have been valuable,” Merlin answered.

She watched him narrowly but he kept his expression blank.

“Could I speak with you?” Sefa asked. “Privately.”

Merlin gave her a searching look before he acquiesced. “Certainly.”

As she led him the short distance to the Rising Sun, she pulled the hood of her thin cloak up around her face.

“How is work at the inn?” he asked.

“Dirty,” she responded. “And we cannot get through an evening without some customer being too deeply in his cups and making extra work for everyone.”

Merlin thought it was probably quite different from the duties she had performed so capably as the queen’s personal maid. She sounded bitter about the degradation in status and he wondered if she appreciated the depth of the treason she had committed in passing information to her father.

She guided him to the inn’s back entrance and down some steps into a storage area. They entered a small room empty of winter stores although rushes remained strewn across the floor.

“We were worried about you after you disappeared, you know,” he said.

Sefa looked sceptical. “Really?”

He nodded. “But there was no sign of you, and I assumed you had returned to the Druids. I didn’t know you weren’t welcome there.”

She did not reply.

“I know how much you loved your father, but Morgana is not the salvation he thought she was.” Merlin watched Sefa carefully.

For a moment she regarded him doubtfully, then a determined look settled on her face. “He was my father, and I must be strong for him.”

Her eyes went past him and Merlin felt a hard blow to the back of his head before the rough straw strewn on the floor came up to meet him. As everything went black, he felt himself turned roughly onto his back and he gagged as a cold liquid was poured down his throat.

~

Merlin could hear someone calling his name but the sound seemed far away. Then he felt himself being shaken. Full consciousness returned along with a pounding headache. He opened his eyes, blinking away the bright spots obscuring the dark-haired face above him.

“Merlin?” asked Gwaine’s voice.

Wincing, Merlin put a hand to the back of his head to feel the size of the lump under his straw-coated hair. “I’ll live,” he muttered.

The knight looked up at the guard standing in the doorway to the storeroom. “Tell the king we found him and he’ll be all right. And give the king this.” Gwaine handed the guard an elaborate silver vial which had lain in the rushes.

~

Gaius handed Merlin a cold cloth to replace the one he was holding to the painful lump on the back of his head.

Arthur sat at the head of the long table in the council room, Guinevere seated at his left and Leon, Gwaine, Percival, and a few of the other knights ranged around the other chairs.

“I can’t believe Sefa would do such a thing,” Gwen said sadly. “I thought perhaps, now she had a safe place, she would understand we mean her no harm and she could rebuild her life.” She looked at Leon. “Where is Sefa now?”

“After she and her accomplice were caught trying to leave the city, she was taken to the cells,” Leon said.

Gwen turned to Arthur. “What will her punishment be?”

“That depends on the harm that results from her actions, which we will know soon enough. Morgana has shown her hand now,” Arthur said grimly. “The next move will be a full-out assault on Camelot. She does not fear us.”

“Then she is more foolish than I thought,” Guinevere said. “You have the strength and love of your people. When you became king you gave them something to fight for and that is the most powerful weapon of all.”

Arthur sat a little straighter as he turned to the First Knight. “Are the men prepared?”

“Yes, Sire,” Leon said. “Though there is no word yet that Urien’s army has crossed our border.”

The king met Merlin’s eyes steadily. “There has not been time for a message to get to us. Morgana will not wait; we march north in the morning.”

~

 

Before his troops were a day’s march from Camelot, word reached King Arthur that Rheged’s army had crossed the border into Camelot and was moving toward them. By the next afternoon, they had confirmation that Morgana was with Urien and his soldiers.

Arthur chose a field overlooking a narrow valley to make his stand. Urien would be forced to approach through the pass below where the boggy ground would slow his soldiers while Arthur’s knights had a wide expanse of grassy field and time to prepare before Urien’s troops arrived. Their forces were of comparable strength, but Rheged’s soldiers were not the equal of Camelot’s knights and Arthur would have the better position. Despite the disadvantages Urien would face, Arthur was confident the man would engage in battle the next morning, counting on Morgana’s aid to ensure his triumph.

The king and a circle of his closest advisors gathered in his command tent. Dozens of candles brightened the inside and cast unsteady shadows on the tent walls. Someone had lifted the flap to allow the night breeze to clear away a little of the smoke.

Despite their carefully laid plans, Arthur looked uneasily at Merlin where he stood with Finna next to the group of knights.

“The great battle is about to begin,” Finna said softly.

The king looked at Merlin. “Are you sure about this plan?”

“If it doesn’t work, we have nothing to lose,” he answered.

“Except you,” Arthur said with a frown. “Morgana will not hesitate to kill you.”

Merlin gave him a lopsided grin. “I’ll do my best not to let her.” As he would do his best not to allow his sympathy for Morgana or his remorse for what she had become to get in his way this time. They were counting on him. There would be no second chance.

“I should stay with Merlin,” Gwaine proposed yet again.

 “You can’t protect me from Morgana, she’s too powerful.” Merlin met Arthur’s gaze steadily. “Morgana will come looking for me, and we need to keep her away from the battle for as long as possible.”

“But if anything happens to you we’re lost,” Arthur said.

“I will protect Emrys,” Finna said. “Only he can carry our hopes now. It is my destiny to serve him until the end; I could wish for nothing more.”

Merlin’s chest ached at her words. He resolved to earn the loyalty Finna and Alator had given him and to ensure Alator’s death would help build the world he had dreamt of.

“I have to be the one to face her,” Merlin said softly. He did not choose that destiny but he could not escape it.

~

Merlin made no attempt to conceal himself. He stood at the edge of a steep embankment, far enough from the field of battle to be out of the thick of the fighting, although he had a sword with him. He could see Urien’s forces assembled below, armour and weapons glinting in the light slanting over the eastern horizon. Merlin also had a clear view of Arthur raising his sword into the air, and although Merlin was too far away to hear the king’s rallying cry he felt the force of it just the same.

The Camelot soldiers and Rheged’s forces charged toward each other, meeting with a horrendous clash of metal and shouts. Merlin could see Urien himself among his troops, his standard held high, but there was no sign of Morgana. For a moment he had a sickening thought that he had guessed wrong, that she was not here, and then he heard her sneering voice behind him.

“Hello, Emrys.”

He spun around, sword clenched tightly although he knew how little use such a weapon would be against her. She was out of reach, standing several paces away at the edge of a wooded area which stretched up the steep hill. Her tattered black clothing was a dark shadow against the budding undergrowth lit by the morning sun.

Merlin needed to lure her closer. “Still afraid of me?” he taunted.

“I fear no one, least of all you.” A ball of pure energy formed in her hand and she sent it flying at him.

He dived out of the way, fell to the ground, and landed painfully on the flat of the sword, scraping his knee. Morgana had not moved one step closer.

Merlin got to his feet and pointed his sword at the sorceress, hoping she did not notice the slight wobble.

“I am a High Priestess; no mortal blade can kill me.”

He stood his ground without lowering the blade.

“Is that the only weapon you wield against me?” she continued. “No fireballs? No lightning bolts? No blast of magic to send me to my knees?”

He gritted his teeth but said nothing.

She came closer. “But if you do not have magic –”

His eyes narrowed.

“– how will you stop me from killing Arthur and claiming the throne that was meant to be mine?”

Although he remained silent, he could not hide the flash of anger in his eyes.

“Well, are you going to stop me before crows peck the eyes out of his carcass and wolves bathe in his blood?” She paused in her approach.

Merlin clenched the sword more tightly. “I will stop you.”

He held the blade stretched in front of him. She was still too far away.

Her eyes flashed. He was thrown backward and the sword flew from his grasp. He landed roughly on his back on the rocky ground and lifted his head to see his sword rise from the grass to hover in front of him, blade pointed at his chest.

Finally, Morgana came within arm’s reach but he was pinned by his sword suspended a hand’s breadth from his breast. She reached out her hand and opened her mouth to incant a spell. At that instant another voice came from a clump of brush not far away.

At the new incantation, the sword wavered and its blade rotated slowly away from Merlin to point toward Morgana. She whirled to face what she had not bothered to notice earlier: a woman in a blue woolen cloak wearing a black headscarf.

Morgana spoke one word and the sword hurtled toward Finna.

“No!” Merlin shouted, but the blade had pierced her heart.

When Finna fell dead, fury burned through him. He leapt to his feet and grasped Morgana’s arm, his eyes flashing gold as he recited the spell to hold her immobile. Knowing the incantation would last for only a moment, he quickly withdrew an elaborately engraved silver vial from his pouch and poured the contents down her throat.

Horror dawned in her face, but his last twinge of sympathy was drowned in anger at Finna’s sacrifice. “You sent the same traitor into Camelot twice?” Merlin said. “Did you really think we wouldn’t suspect Sefa? We found the vial the second time we searched her things. It was a simple matter to switch the elixir you gave her for another vial with a harmless liquid.”

The effects of the immobilization spell weakened and Morgana lifted a hand to her throat, coughing and gasping. He released his hold on her arm, watching as she staggered backward away from him.

Fury replaced the frozen terror in her face and she raised a hand toward him. When nothing happened, she examined her own hands as if unsure that they belonged to her.

She stared malevolently at Merlin and shouted a spell, but again there was no effect. The coldness in her eyes made him flinch.

“You will not win no matter what foul deed you have done to me.”

A swell of sound reached them from the battlefield and both turned their attention to the scene below. The standards of the two kings were in close proximity. The Camelot knights fought valiantly, but the bulk of soldiers wearing Urien’s silver wolf had surrounded Arthur, cutting him off from any black shields with the golden dragon emblem. He was valiantly holding them at bay but it would not be long before they overpowered him by sheer force of numbers.

Morgana smiled. “You have not saved Arthur yet. The throne of Camelot will be mine.”

With a last glance at her, Merlin sprinted toward the fighting, scrambling down the steep embankment in a shower of tiny stones. He carved a path through the battle, ignoring the familiar sounds of metal cutting through human flesh and grunts of pain. He dodged the swinging weapons when he could and used magic to clear his way when necessary, wincing as Camelot fighters along with enemy soldiers were sometimes swept aside by his magic in the confusion of combat.

Merlin finally caught sight of Arthur. He breathed heavily and his blond hair was matted with sweat as he faced the other king surrounded by a ring of Rheged soldiers.

“The battle is lost, Urien,” Arthur said.

“It won’t matter if you’re dead,” Urien answered calmly. “Morgana will claim the crown of Camelot and I will accept the allegiance of the other kings in your place.”

“They don’t answer to me,” Arthur said.

“Don’t they?” Urien scoffed. “They follow you like sheep: Olaf, Meliant, Gwynllyw, Annis, that fool Alined. They will all swear fealty to me now and Morgana can do as she likes with Camelot.”

“Guinevere will rule in the event of my death.”

Urien’s eyes widened and his thin lip curled beneath the thick blond mustache. “The peasant queen? She will never be accepted, nor will she be allowed to retain her undeserved position when one of noble blood – royal blood, even – can assume the throne after your death.”

“But I’m still alive.”

 “Not for long. Your pet sorcerer is powerless and your knights can be held at bay long enough to end your life and your reign.”

The circle of Rheged soldiers raised their blades.

Before they could close around King Arthur, they were tossed aside like leaves on the wind. A wall of flame sprang up between the soldiers wearing the silver wolf and the king with the gold dragon crest. The Rheged knights still standing fell back in alarm.

Arthur’s eyes met Merlin’s where he stood within the wall of fire which separated him and the two kings from the renewed fighting around them.

Calmly, Arthur twirled his sword expertly. “I believe you are misinformed. You have lost the battle and the war. Do you surrender?”

“No,” Urien growled, raising his sword.

The kings circled each other cautiously, then came together with a loud clash of metal on metal. They exchanged several blows before they parted, circling each other warily. Abruptly they clashed again. Arthur ducked a killing blow and kicked Urien’s right side adding to the force of the missed swing. With a grunt, the older king landed heavily and before he could rise Arthur stood with his sword pressed to Urien’s thick neck.

 “If you agree to swear fealty to me, I will allow you to retain your crown and your kingdom under my authority,” Arthur said.

Urien’s thin lips compressed until they disappeared in the bushy blond beard. The fire was gone and a heavy stillness indicated the fighting was over. Several red-cloaked knights stood watching with not one silver wolf emblem visible them. There was no doubt who the victor had been.

 Urien’s shoulders slumped and he made no attempt to get to his feet. “I surrender, my lord.”

~

By the time they had tended to the wounded, buried the dead, and hammered out the final terms for the subjugation of Rheged, no daylight remained. Arthur had seen Merlin make his way alone to the ridge overlooking the battlefield to give Finna a proper memorial. The king had not seen his friend since, nor had time to give him much thought. He had received reports, honoured the dead, heartened the wounded, and negotiated the terms of Urien’s surrender.

Exhausted, Arthur entered his tent to find Merlin sitting alone, staring into a candle flame. At the king’s entrance, the sorcerer got to his feet and gave the most respectful bow Arthur had ever seen from him.

“Sire,” Merlin said gravely. Then a smile split his face. “You did it. You united the land of Albion.”

The enormity of that responsibility pierced Arthur suddenly. “How can I demand allegiance from other kings? My father expected everyone to follow his lead without question, but even he did not ask to rule other kingdoms.”

“Uther reigned through fear,” Merlin said quietly. “The other kings, your people, they follow you because of what they see in you, what Gwen sees, what I see.”

The king felt the knot of self-doubt loosen.

“You barely knew me when you trusted my word against a knight’s and determined to face him anyway, knowing he was cheating, yet you fought fair and bravely. I have watched you grow from a hot-headed warrior to a seasoned leader who knows the value of peace. You don’t demand allegiance from other rulers, they choose to give it because of who you are. There will never be another like you, Arthur.”

At Merlin’s words, at the simple faith shining in his eyes, Arthur truly believed he could rule Albion, but at the same time he was humbled. Urien’s men had surrounded him, five of them to every Camelot knight, ordered to ensure Arthur did not survive even though the battle was won, yet they were tossed aside before they could murder him. He thought of Morgana, powerless, and of an earthquake shaking the tomb before Odin could execute him, and of a sword in his hand coming loose from solid stone for him to raise it high into the air, its blade flashing in the sunlight.

He looked at Merlin. “Thanks to you, old friend. I may not know everything you’ve done for me, for Camelot, for the kingdom you helped me build, but I understand how much of it I owe to you,” Arthur said.

He held out his arm and Merlin grasped it. The dark-haired young man’s eyes were shining when the king let go.

“Are we done with the gibberish about destiny now?”

Merlin smiled. “We should make it official, first. A peace treaty among all the kingdoms of Albion acknowledging you as the Once and Future king of legend.”

Arthur frowned. “What is that supposed to mean, anyway? And why do some people call you Emrys?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin said. “I wonder if the prophecies got some facts wrong, like you being strong and noble instead of an arrogant ass.”

“And you being wise instead of an idiot?”

The sorcerer grinned.

“You didn’t kill Morgana after all.”

The smile vanished. “No,” Merlin said. “What I did was worse.”

“Worse than death?” Arthur joked.

Merlin regarded him seriously. “I would rather be dead than live without magic.”

“You did what you had to do.” Arthur sighed. “She wasn’t found, you know. She vanished again.”

“It doesn’t matter; she’s penniless and without power or allies. All the kingdoms are sworn to you.”

“There is Lot’s kingdom.”

“Essetir is a territory more than a kingdom. Lot barely maintains order near his own stronghold; slavers and bandits have their run of the outer villages. Trust me, I know.”

Arthur grimaced in agreement. “It is, however, a perfect buffer between Albion and the Saxons.” The king looked at Merlin. “If you want your mother to live someplace safer, she would be welcome in Camelot.”

“Ealdor is her home. She’s adamant that she has no wish to live anyplace else, but thank you, Arthur,” Merlin said. “I think I’ll visit her now that I can take a few days off from saving your royal backside.”

Arthur raised his brows. “Who said you could have a few days off?”

“A wise, noble, generous ruler like yourself would be pleased to make such a kind gesture to a loyal and faithful servant.”

“On the other hand, it will not be true peace without a break from your constant prattle.”

“Thank you, Sire.” Merlin’s bow was not quite as deep this time, his lips twitching to hold back a smile.


	14. Summer, Sixth Year of Arthur’s Reign

The three horses plodded through the forest taking their riders further west into Essetir. The underbrush was thick with green leaves and tiny red berries. Clumps of white and purple blooms scented the warm air and the horses’ tails swished constantly at the clouds of whining mosquitoes and buzzing flies.

They were traveling discreetly. Mithian, whom most people in Camelot believed had taken her children to visit Nemeth, was carrying Niniane. Merlin rode beside her and Gwaine rode behind them with Erec. Despite the knight’s insistence that they needed an escort, Merlin suspected Gwaine was merely anxious to spend playtime with Erec far from the mocking grins of his fellow knights about his paternal instincts. Merlin glanced back and smiled to see Gwaine entertaining the little boy by making the noise of every bird and animal, small and large, they caught a glimpse of.

“How much further?” Mithian asked.

“We should be there by midday.” Merlin looked over at her. “Do you want me to take Niniane?”

Mithian smiled in appreciation as she halted her mount’s placid walk to hand the child to her father. He took the opportunity to give Mithian a quick kiss before he cooed to the baby who fluttered her lashes and whimpered. She had more hair than her older brother had had at the same age and it was darker, almost black, making her skin seem paler in comparison.

“We’re almost there,” he crooned, tearing his attention away from the baby in his arms to guide his horse forward.

“In a hurry?” Gwaine asked teasingly.

Merlin ignored the knight’s amused grin and Mithian’s knowing look. Merlin had not seen his mother in many years, as it had been years before the last brief visit which was cut short by a battalion of enemy troops. He was also guiltily aware that he had told his mother nothing about Mithian in his infrequent letters, unwilling to be so indiscreet when getting any information at all from Camelot across the border into Lot’s kingdom was chancy at best. Few had reason to go into Essetir and fewer yet had any wish to. Merlin could only hope his mother’s anticipated delight at seeing her grandchildren would forestall any reprimands she might otherwise level at him for his lack of communication.

They headed down a steady incline toward the village framed by wooded slopes and backed by a rocky outcropping threaded through with tunnels. The heat of the noon-day sun pressed harder after they left the shelter of the trees for the wide grassy area of the village. A breeze brought the smells of sun-warmed thatch, human sweat, and cook fires toward them. A duck called to her ducklings and chickens argued over a handful of grain spilled in the dirt.

The sight of three people on horseback was enough of an unusual event to attract attention the moment they were in sight of the village. Men paused in the field to stare, leaning on shovels and crude wooden rakes. Women stopped work in the communal garden or halted in the act of hanging washing on the lines strung the length of the tiny group of slope-roofed dwellings.

As they drew rein beside the outermost hut, Merlin was not surprised to see his mother running to meet them, scattering a few chickens which protested the interruption to their hunt for food.

Hunith stopped in her tracks and her welcoming smile turned to blank surprise when she saw he was carrying a baby. He dismounted and gave her the sleeping infant without saying a word, then moved to assist Mithian from her horse.

His mother stared in shock from the unexpected bundle in her arms to the loving expressions on Merlin and Mithian as she put her hands on his shoulders and he lifted her to the ground. He led Mithian by the hand to where Hunith stood transfixed.

“Mother, this is Mithian.”

They had decided that none of them would use her title. Hunith would be justifiably concerned at his entanglement with someone of such rank, at least until Merlin could explain things to her.

Leaving Mithian and Hunith to exchange greetings, Merlin went to take Erec from Gwaine and bring the little boy to his grandmother. Hunith’s eyes grew even wider as she took in the third surprise her son had brought. Merlin gave his mother his most ingratiating smile while he waited anxiously for her response.

Finally, she gave him a stern ‘we will talk later’ look before bestowing her most welcoming smile on Mithian.

“Please, come into my home.” Hunith indicated her tiny cottage, then sent an inquiring glance at the dark-haired man who was holding the reins of all three horses.

“My friend, Gwaine.”

The knight was dressed like any traveling man, armed but without chainmail or cape that would have marked him as a Camelot knight.

“Please join us,” Hunith said.

“I’ll see to the horses and catch up with you all shortly,” Gwaine said, giving Merlin a wink.

Merlin gratefully acknowledged his friend’s offer to let their family get acquainted before he joined them. He followed his mother and Mithian toward the cottage.

After they ducked through the cloth hung over the opening, Hunith handed the baby back to her mother.

“Niniane,” Mithian answered the older woman’s unspoken question.

“This is Erec,” Merlin added, bringing the little boy to Hunith so she could have a close look at him.

“Hello,” she said.

“Good day,” the toddler pronounced clearly.

Hunith’s eyes slid to her son and back to the boy. “Well spoken,” she said. “You all must be hungry.”

Seeing his mother’s worried glance at the pot on the hearth, Merlin leaned closer. “There’s food in our saddlebags.”

Hunith gave him a relieved look. “I can add what you have to the stew. Mithian, would you give me a hand? If the infant is asleep, you can put her down over there.”

There was a spark of panic in Mithian’s eyes. Merlin could not imagine she had ever assisted in preparing a meal. “Mithian is tired, Mother. Let me help you.”

Hunith thankfully accepted her son’s help, although she flicked an appraising glance toward Mithian.

Once he brought in their packs, Merlin took over his mother’s chores so she could spend time with the children.

Gwaine joined them for the evening meal, all four adults seated on the single bench at the rough-hewn wooden table with Erec on his mother’s lap. Daylight slanted in through the small, high windows sparing the need to deplete Hunith’s supply of candles.

The little boy was quieter than usual. Merlin watched his son take in each detail of his unfamiliar surroundings, hanging on every word the adults spoke, trying to hide his yawns and heavy-lidded eyes. Yet he did not protest being sent to sleep after supper.

Cloths hung from the rafters separated the sleeping area from where they prepared and ate meals. Merlin smiled to himself at how wide Erec’s eyes were when he saw the dirt floor he would sleep on. He laid the little boy down on the blankets they had brought and returned to the main room.

Gwaine announced his intention to go outside to properly tend to his weapons. Mithian was nursing Niniane, seated on an upturned barrel they had brought in to use as a stool, leaving Hunith and Merlin in relative privacy.

They sat side by side on the only bench which had been moved from the table to the hearth in the centre of the room. Hunith unwrapped the green scarf she used to cover her head when she worked and long strands of dark brown hair escaped their bun to hang limply around her face. She took one of Merlin’s hands in both her own.

“Is everything all right with you?” Hunith asked. “Some wild tales have reached our ears these past few years.”

He squeezed her fingers. “Everything is fine.”

“Is it true, then, that it’s safe for you in Camelot? That Arthur knows about your gift?”

“Yes.”

The relief on her face made him feel guilty again for not having put her mind to rest sooner.

“I told you that in time the truth would be known.” Hunith smiled.

Then her smile dimmed and Merlin berated himself for letting any of his unease show in his face.

“It isn’t entirely peace and tranquillity, is it?” she asked.

Knowing he could not hide his doubts from his mother, Merlin patted her hand. “Not everyone is entirely accepting of magic.”

“They never have been,” Hunith said softly. “I take it some of those tales about you are being repeated in Camelot itself.”

Merlin nodded.

“It doesn’t matter what strangers say about you,” his mother said. “It matters what those who know you best believe.”

Smiling, Merlin looked at her. “I know.”

~

Mithian watched Merlin and Hunith talking quietly beside the hearth. The sunlight was growing dimmer and embers from the brazier in the centre of the room cast a faint glow on their faces. It was clear to her where Merlin had learned kindness and generosity. Despite receiving her son with no forewarning along with two unexpected guests and two small children, his mother had shown both qualities in abundance. Mithian had been concerned the woman might resent her, but she seemed genuinely pleased her son was happy and had politely refrained from asking all the questions she must have.

It had been an enjoyable visit except for that moment of mortification when Hunith had asked for her help preparing a meal and Mithian abruptly faced the fact that she had never in her life performed such a simple task. For an instant she had experienced a self-doubt she had never felt before – there had never been a skill expected of her which she had not mastered – along with a humiliated insight that every peasant woman in this village and every serving maid Merlin had ever known could doubtless cook food.

Niniane finished nursing and promptly grew sleepy. When Mithian laid the baby girl on a blanket next to her brother and drew aside the hanging cloth to return to the main room, she found Merlin’s and Hunith’s eyes on her.

“Come sit with us,” Hunith said.

Mithian sat beside Merlin on the crude bench and leaned into him when he put an arm around her.

“That was a good meal,” Mithian said politely.

“It was Merlin’s efforts more than mine,” Hunith said truthfully.

“I make an excellent stew,” Merlin boasted.

“He does, I can vouch for that,” Gwaine said as he entered the modest dwelling from outside. “As long as someone else provides the meat.”

Merlin pretended offence.

“Fortunately I have my crossbow,” Mithian said.

Merlin smiled at her indulgently. “I concede you are by far a better hunter than I am.”

“It would help if you didn’t purposely make enough noise to frighten away any potential prey,” she said.

Gwaine chuckled.

“But it would be far less entertaining without the look of consternation on Arthur’s face when his target bounds off unharmed.”

Gwaine laughed harder.

“Merlin,” his mother admonished without raising her voice.

Mithian was amused by how quickly his mother’s stern tone banished the grin from Merlin’s face. The king of Camelot rarely had that effect when he was shouting in a rage.

“I know how tired you all must be having travelled these past two and half days,” Hunith said. “I assume you’d like to sleep now.”

Gratefully, Mithian rose to her feet.

“If there’s anything you need,” Hunith offered.

“We have everything, thank you.” Merlin gave his mother a kiss on her forehead. He held aside the hanging cloth for Mithian and showed Gwaine where their bedrolls had been laid out beside the sleeping children.

Mithian watched through the curtain as Hunith bustled around, banking the fire before seeking her own bed.

Merlin caught her eye and winked. “She’s happiest when she’s doing something for other people,” he whispered.

“Yes,” Mithian said softly. “I’m happy to have met your mother.” Impulsively, she gave him a quick kiss. “Thank you for bringing me.”

“Even though you have to sleep on a dirt floor?”

“I’ve spent two nights in the open sleeping on hard ground, I think I can manage,” she answered tartly as she stretched out on the blankets next to Erec and Niniane. “Good night.”

“Good night.” He lay beside her and blew out the single candle before he wrapped one arm around her middle.

~

The next day, Merlin and Gwaine took charge of as many of Hunith’s tasks as they could as well as assisting the village men. They had been gone since breakfast. Mithian finally convinced Erec to come in for his usual morning nap rather than remain outside staring in fascination at everything going on in the village.

Hunith sat cradling Niniane in her arms. “I’m not used to having a moment to myself,” the older woman said as Mithian left Erec on his blankets and took a seat on the bench beside her.

“It isn’t exactly to yourself,” Mithian said.

Niniane fussed and smacked her lips.

“She’s going to want her mother soon.” Hunith stared down at the small face holding one tiny hand in hers. “Would you like to take her now?”

“Certainly.” Mithian reached out only to have Hunith grasp her hand and turn it over to examine her palm. Her eyes jumped to Hunith’s face.

The other woman sighed and released Mithian’s hand so she could take the baby.

“You’re not a cook or serving girl, and you’re no lady’s maid, either, are you?”

Mithian shook her head.

“A noblewoman?” Hunith asked gravely.

“Yes.” Mithian hesitated but Merlin’s mother did not ask any further questions, merely waited quietly. “My father was King Rodor of Nemeth.”

Hunith gasped. “A king’s daughter?” She sat back to examine Mithian. “Your father acknowledged you, then?”

Mithian realized what conclusion Hunith had naturally drawn. “My mother was the queen,” she elaborated.

“But then you would be of the royal family of Nemeth?” Hunith breathed, a shocked expression on her face.

Mithian nodded mutely, wondering if anyone in this village had even heard of the kingdom so far to the southwest. “Don’t worry. I’m respectably married to an appropriate lord of Camelot’s nobility who is as happy with our arrangement as I am.”

The older woman gave her a searching look before patting her hand kindly. Then Hunith’s expression grew solemn. “How is it truly for my son in Camelot? Has he finally found a safe place to belong?”

Mithian laid a hand over one of Hunith’s, noting its tremble. “There are still those who believe magic is evil and Merlin’s influence over Arthur is a danger to us all, but those voices grow weaker. And certainly there are some who fear him, but he has friends – the king and queen and Sir Gwaine foremost among them. However, there are also those who would use him if they could.” Mithian hesitated and looked at Hunith, wondering if she would understand the intricacies of royal government and the subtle uses of authority by those surrounding a monarch.

A knowing light in the older woman’s eyes told Mithian that while the peasant woman may never have experienced court life, she was well aware how one’s power could be manipulated by others for their own uses.

“Arthur has enemies who believe they are more deserving of sovereignty than he is, who think Merlin would better serve them.” She shook her head. “Some will never understand how he can wield the power he does and not wish to use it for himself.”

Hunith glanced at the curtain behind which Erec was napping and then at the baby in Mithian’s arms. “They could threaten you to control him.”

“That would be a grave error on their part,” Mithian said with a smile. “Besides, those who would do so see him as a tool, not a person. They do not attribute human emotions to a powerful sorcerer, and since there’s no outward connection between us, well, it’s inconceivable to many that a peasant who is also a sorcerer would have any involvement with a noblewoman.”

At the reminder of the original subject of their discussion, Hunith sighed with equal parts frustration and indulgence. “How does my son manage to find himself in these situations?”

“He is special,” Mithian said softly.

At that moment the subject of their discussion walked into the hut, stopping short as they both looked at him.

“What did I do?” he asked, his eyes darting between them.

“ _Princess_ Mithian and I were discussing your uncanny ability to find yourself in the most extraordinary situations,” Hunith said.

“I was going to tell you, Mother, I promise.”

“You say that a lot,” Gwaine said from behind him.

Merlin’s mother gave him a look of mild incredulity. “Gaius is a better guardian than I even hoped if he kept Merlin from telling anyone who would listen about his magic. As a child he put me in fear for our lives more than once. I think ‘magic’ was his first word.”

Mithian saw Merlin’s cheeks redden. “Why did you send him to Camelot, right under Uther’s nose?” she asked curiously.

Hunith sighed. “I trusted Gaius, and he was the only person I knew who could teach my son how to use his gifts. I was certain there must be a purpose for them but he would never discover it here.”

“So you sent him to the birthplace of the Great Purge?” Gwaine said wonderingly.

“Where Gaius promptly gave me a book of spells,” Merlin said. “Until then I had never learned incantations.”

“You went to Uther’s court to learn magic,” Gwaine summed up.

“To keep Arthur alive long enough to inherit the throne, come to his senses, and unite the land,” Merlin added.

Gwaine looked at him speculatively. “Now what?”

For a moment, Merlin looked taken aback. “I don’t know.”

“You could take care of Erec,” Mithian said as Niniane fussed in her arms at the same time that the little boy let out a sleepy cry at waking up from his nap in a strange place.

“A fitting job for a man of your talents.” Gwaine grinned.

“I would be happy to,” Merlin said. “Come to think of it, taking care of a little boy is much like being Arthur’s manservant.”

Gwaine laughed aloud, Mithian hid her smile by bending over the baby, and Hunith shook her head at the disrespectful reference to the king.

~

The morning they were to leave, Hunith entertained Erec with a clapping game in the dusty path outside her door while Merlin and Gwaine packed their things and readied the horses.

Mithian came out of the tiny dwelling with Niniane in her arms. For a moment she watched Hunith and the little boy crouched on the ground, playing.

“Hunith, you don’t have magic, do you?” Mithian asked quietly.

The other woman looked up in surprise. “No.”

“Yet you managed to raise Merlin. How did you … I mean, what if they …” Mithian’s gaze moved from Erec to Niniane.

Smiling, Hunith rose to her feet and laid her hand on Mithian’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine, I promise,” she assured the younger woman.


	15. Autumn, Sixth Year of Arthur’s Reign

When Uther hosted the monarchs of the Five Kingdoms for the signing of their historic peace treaty, such a summit had been unprecedented in its time. This meeting in Camelot of all the rulers of all the lands of Albion had never been dreamt of.

The council chamber would not hold them all, so they gathered in the Great Hall at King Arthur’s Round Table: white-haired King Gwynllyw and Queen Gwladys of Daobeth, King Olaf and Queen Ysmay of Dyfed, King Alined of Gwynedd accompanied by Queen Elyenora, King Odin and Queen Athelis of Deorham, young King Meliant with Queen Elena, Queen Annis of Caerleon, Lord Bayard of Mercia looking much older than during his last visit to Camelot, Lord Godwyn of Gawant, and King Urien of Rheged.

Impressive in its vast space, the Great Hall was hung with red banners and decorated with pennants sporting Camelot’s golden dragon. Standing along every wall of the huge room were soldiers from each of the kingdoms bearing the royal crests of every monarch in the land. A continuous rattle of sheathed weapons and chain mail came from the assembly: green-cloaked knights from Nemeth, black-helmeted soldiers from Deorham, those wearing the silver wolf of Rheged and the red and blue crest of Gwynedd, warriors from Caerleon in their animal pelts, blue-cloaked soldiers from Mercia, and darker blue-breasted knights from Dyfed.

The warmth of so many bodies had raised the temperature in the packed hall and beads of sweat stood on several brows including the royal heads seated around the table wearing an assortment of crowns and heavy jewellery. Each ruler had outdone himself or herself in an attempt to outshine the others in clothing stitched with silver and gold thread, fur trimming, gems of every colour, ceremonial weaponry, and a wealth of rings, bracelets, necklaces, and hair pieces.

Looking at the faces turned toward him, waiting for him to speak, Arthur’s gaze came to rest on Queen Guinevere smiling up at him as he stood to address the gathered royalty. The pride shining in her face washed away his lingering nervousness.

“Thank you all for coming together on this momentous occasion to mark the federation of the united kingdoms of Albion. This is truly a historic moment which will long be remembered. I cannot express to you how honoured I am that you have graced Camelot with your presence and chosen to declare your commitment to this union.”

“As if we had a choice,” muttered Urien. His thin lips were compressed tightly between his thick blond mustache and his bushy beard.

Alined’s pinched face was made more unpleasant by a petulant scowl but he said nothing.

“The choice would still be clear,” Annis declared. “There is none other I would trust with the hopes of my people for a united land free of tyranny.”

“Nor I,” Olaf stated. “Even as Crown Prince you demonstrated a commitment to peace over victory after you had defeated me fairly in a duel to the death.”

Odin did not speak but a flush crept up his neck.

Queen Athelis glanced at her husband before addressing Arthur. “And you put aside years of bitterness between our family and yours to choose reconciliation rather than retaliation,” she said. “Your willingness to listen to the advice of others in the heat of the moment showed remarkably good judgement.”

Meliant had reason to recall the events which led to Arthur’s clash with Odin. “I, too, thank you, Arthur, for your aid. I owe the peace and security of my kingdom to you twice over.”

“Gawant has long been an ally of Camelot,” Elena said. “We have seen you grow into a great king as my father predicted and we are proud to reaffirm our allegiance to you.”

Godwyn nodded his agreement and patted his daughter’s hand.

The elderly Gwynllyw and Gwladys exchanged a look before the white-haired monarch spoke. “I have long awaited the time when I would see an end to the fear and unrest stirred up during the Great Purge, finally bringing peace within our kingdoms as well as among them. This day marks the beginning of a golden age, thanks to you, Arthur.”

Camelot’s king felt warmth spreading through him at their words.

Not to be outdone by the heartfelt speeches of his fellow rulers, Bayard got to his feet. A general sigh went through the assembly.

“A golden age, truly the beginning of a time of peace and prosperity throughout the lands we share that once ran red with blood. A time of harmony, when everyone regardless of birth can live freely.”

While the man’s long, wavy hair had grown more grey and his rough face more lined, his voice had gained strength rather than weakened. His speeches which once seemed interminable had impossibly lengthened. As the deep voice droned on, Arthur kept a dutiful smile on his face but his attention wandered around the Great Hall.

The other monarchs wore expressions of varying patience with Bayard’s long-winded oration. Several twitched under their layers of formal dress in the warm room. Guinevere flashed Arthur an amused glance before returning her gaze attentively to the speaker. The soldiers stationed around the walls maintained a respectful silence although several shifted restlessly with faint jingles of weaponry and mail and many wiped trickles of sweat from their faces. His own knights had not taken their eyes from their king. Gwaine gave him an appreciative grin and Percival inclined his head in respect.

Beside them stood Merlin, doing his best to be as inconspicuous as possible. By the occasional sideways glance sent his way from those in the room of every rank, it was apparent he was not successful at remaining unnoticed. Gwaine turned his grin on Merlin and punched him in the arm. Rubbing his arm, Merlin gave the knight a long-suffering look which was spoiled by the smile that lit his face.

Merlin turned the smile toward Arthur and gave the king a nod of respect that meant more than the praise of all the monarchs seated at the Round Table. Arthur stood straighter at the sign of esteem from the person who truly deserved the credit for this momentous union of all the lands of Albion. Without Merlin, Arthur would not deserve their praise, if he had even lived long enough to assume the crown of Camelot. It was Merlin’s efforts that had earned Arthur his place as head of this gathering today. Yet the younger man had never sought any credit; the only reward he had wanted was to be free.

That freedom was double-edged. Merlin no longer had to hide who he was, but as people came to understand all he had done they also realized all he could do and few understood how someone who commanded such power could resist being corrupted by it. Arthur recognized for what it was the fear underlying many tales being whispered about the powerful sorcerer.

Bayard finished his poetic speech and with a dramatic flourish took up the quill to be the first to mark his name on the treaty which committed the kingdoms of Albion to not only live peaceably with each other, but to swear allegiance to Camelot’s king. Once Bayard had signed, he gave a deep bow to Arthur before he resumed his place.

To Arthur’s surprise, Alined was the second to add his signature. The grimace on his unpleasant face which he intended to be an ingratiating smile did little to lend credibility to his perfunctory bow.

One by one, each ruler stood to sign the treaty and then acknowledge King Arthur. Urien was the last to mark his name, scowling at the document he had been passed before taking the quill in his beefy hand to scrawl a signature.

Finally the document was slid across the table to Arthur. Guinevere stood beside him as he added his name to the treaty as High King. At that, several of the monarchs led by Olaf slapped their hands on the table causing freshly-filled goblets to jump and slosh their contents onto the round surface. In response, the soldiers who held spears slammed their shafts against the stone floor and Annis’ warriors let out a deafening shout that momentarily struck terror into those who had never before heard Caerleon’s war cry. The Camelot knights clapped enthusiastically and Gwaine let out a shout of his own.

For a moment the noise level in the room precluded any chance of speaking, but once it subsided Arthur raised his goblet and the royals around the table followed suit.

“To peace,” he said simply.

“To peace,” they echoed and then each took a deep drink.

Arthur raised his cup in Merlin’s direction before he drank himself.

~

The banquet hall was filled. With the royal visitors, only Camelot’s highest-ranked courtiers had been granted places at the long tables which stretched from one end of the room to the other. Arthur had centre place at the head table with Guinevere on his left and Merlin on his right. The other royals occupied the seats closest to them, and ranged further down the long side tables were Sir Ector, Sir Leon, Sir Gwaine, Sir Percival, Gaius, Mithian with Lord Olwyne, Sir Aldric, Geoffrey, Sir Caradoc, and Sir Andred. Aldric’s scarred face was more pleasant as he joined in the celebratory toasts being drunk by the knights on either side of him though he studiously ignored Merlin’s presence.

Loud conversations and drunken laughter drowned out the musicians in the corner of the hall. The scents of roasted venison, beef, pork, and fish competed with dumplings, pies, and bread. Fresh vegetables and ripe fruits were heaped in bowls. Armfuls of flowers decorated the hall and released their own scents into the air to mask the smell of warm bodies. A group of acrobats performed an especially amazing feat and there was a roar of appreciation from the guests.

Arthur glanced to his right. Merlin’s shoulders were twitching as though the shirt he wore was uncomfortable. Arthur shook his head at how his friend could wear coarse wool clothing for days on end without apparent notice and yet squirm when he was properly dressed for once.

As the acrobats executed their finale flip, pretending to narrowly miss crashing to the stone floor in a spectacular fall, a pair of jugglers came forward to take their place in the open area in the middle of the banquet tables. The jugglers faced their audience and gave an exaggerated courtly bow in unison before beginning their act to the applause of revelers on all sides. Arthur chuckled when he saw Queen Annis send Merlin a droll look and raise her goblet in his direction causing him to flush.

The looks King Urien and King Alined shot toward Merlin were far less friendly and Arthur wondered if either had attempted to entice the powerful sorcerer to make one of them High King. Their own ambition and greed would lead them to believe everyone was motivated by the same self-serving desires; neither of them would understand Merlin’s loyalty.

In truth, Arthur did not entirely understand it himself. He winced at how often he had made some derogatory remark about sorcerers in Merlin’s presence and how the younger man must have cringed inside. Yet he had stood by Arthur, had continually saved his life, bolstered his self-esteem, and even shown his willingness to sacrifice himself for Arthur’s sake.

All for this. To see the lands united in peace, in tolerance if not always acceptance of magic. It would take time to change hearts and minds which had long been told of the evils of sorcery, and some would always regard it with fear, but at least Merlin and those like him could be free. They no longer had to live as fugitives, knowing the best places to hide, and endangering people around them simply by their existence. And Merlin had always believed Arthur could accomplish it. Had stood by him even those times when his friend must have despaired of ever seeing magic accepted as a force for good.

How many times had Merlin convinced Arthur that he would be a great king, that he would be remembered in every age, and that there would never be another like him? Yet he seemed to think history would forget Arthur had not done all that single-handed. What would be remembered about the powerful sorcerer who had been at his side? Arthur doubted Merlin would be as forgotten as he believed, but would fear colour the tales about him forever? Or would people remember he was human? That he could be a clumsy idiot as well as a wise advisor? That he had his own regrets and had endured setbacks and lost loved ones in the building of this world he had been destined to help create?

Merlin sat hunched over his plate, doing his best to ignore the curious as well as fearful glances sent his way. Arthur saw Mithian catch his eye and send him a warm smile which relaxed the sorcerer a little. Then his gaze came to rest on the High King.

“Congratulations, Arthur,” he said softly. “You accomplished all that destiny asked: the lands united in peace, a just and fair kingdom for all.”

“ _We_ accomplished that,” Arthur corrected. “Together. I couldn’t have done it without you, or without the support of Guinevere and my knights and all the others who fought – and died – to create this world.”

Guinevere laid her hand over his where it rested on the table. Then she leaned forward to look at Merlin. “Thank you, Merlin, for taking care of him. I cannot imagine it was easy.”

She smiled at Arthur to take the sting out of her words but he did not dispute it. In fact, he was glad she had said it for him.

“You have no idea.” Merlin grinned at Gwen.

“But I do,” Arthur said. “At least, I do now, and I want to say something I rarely say to you.”

Merlin waited, a slight frown creasing his forehead, but his expression cleared and erased the awkwardness Arthur felt when he said the words: “Thank you.”


	16. Spring, Eighth Year of Arthur’s Reign

Merlin made his way through the busy citadel corridors on his way to the physician’s chamber. His brows rose when he saw Daegal lurking outside the closed chamber door. The boy reached for the latch, then took his hand away again.

“What are you doing?” Merlin asked as he thrust open the door and walked in. He stopped dead on the threshold, eyes wide as Gaius and a woman with long grey hair broke apart.

“Merlin, don’t you ever knock?” the physician demanded.

A wide smile split the sorcerer’s face at Gaius’ embarrassment. “Sorry,” he answered. “Hello, Alice.”

“It’s good to see you again, Merlin,” she replied, running a hand over her disheveled braid. “It has been a long time.”

“Yes it has.” His eyes scanned the chamber. “You don’t have any strange box with you this time, right?”

Alice smiled. “I promise, no evil creatures are accompanying me.”

“Why are you here?”

“Merlin!” Gaius said. “That’s a rude question.”

“I assure you, my intentions are honourable,” Alice answered good-naturedly. “I’m merely doing what many of us can do now – returning home.”

Gaius gave her a tender look. “I’m glad you did.”

A warm smile lit her face as she met his eyes and Merlin cleared his throat to remind them of his presence. “Is there going to be a lot of kissing going on in here now?”

Gaius raised an eyebrow at him. “Why are you here?”

“I came to ask you to visit Mithian when you can. She’s with child.”

“Again?” the physician said. “And you have the nerve to walk in here unannounced and ask me about kissing?”

Merlin felt his face grow hot.

“If I can be of any assistance, please let me know,” Alice offered. “I’ve helped with a great many births in my years.”

With a grateful smile, Merlin accepted her offer. The splattered mud on Alice’s skirts indicated she must have just arrived in Camelot. “If you need somewhere to stay,” he offered.

Alice slid a glance at Gaius. “I’ll let you know.”

The physician gave her a coy smile in response.

Looking from one to the other, Merlin muttered an excuse and backed out of the chamber, closing the door behind him. He exchanged a glance with Daegal who still lingered in the hall.

“You could gather herbs,” Merlin said. “Some of them are far away and take all day to find.”

Daegal’s face cleared of its uncertainty. “Thanks.”

Merlin watched the boy disappear down the hall before he turned his steps back to the royal apartment where he had left Erec with Arthur.

When Merlin walked into the king’s chamber he was in a mock duel with the little boy who could barely balance the wooden sword he wielded. The cleverly crafted sticks made a dull clacking each time they clashed.

“He’s too young to play sword-fighting,” Merlin said.

Arthur threw his friend a condescending glance over his shoulder without breaking off the fight. “Only if you want him to be as hopeless with a blade as you are.”

Merlin rolled his eyes.

The king gave him a haughty look. “I’ll have you know it’s considered an honour to be permitted to send one’s son to Camelot for training. Caradoc has already requested that his son Accolon be trained here and the boy is barely older than Erec.”

When Arthur went back to calling out instructions to the little boy as he parried and struck with his own wooden sword, Merlin spotted a ring of keys lying on the bedtable behind the king. The sorcerer muttered a quiet incantation and his eyes flashed. The keys lifted into the air and dangled themselves behind Arthur’s head, jangling slightly as they moved back and forth with the king’s movements, always staying out of his sight.

Arthur brushed his hand over his ear and glanced around, but did not break off the duel. Erec laughed, his eyes going to the jingling keys.

“Pay attention,” Arthur said. “If you let yourself be distracted the enemy can kill you.”

Brow puckered, Erec ignored the dancing keys and concentrated on the mock duel.

Arthur shook his head slightly but did not look around again.

Gwen and Mithian walked into the chamber, Gwen carrying Niniane.

The queen frowned. “What’s that jangling sound?”

Arthur paused in his duel and looked at her. “You hear it, too?”

The little girl giggled and reached out a chubby fist as if trying to grab for the keys suspended behind Arthur’s left ear.

Erec took advantage of the king’s distraction to strike a blow to his knee. Arthur looked down in dismay when the boy smiled triumphantly up at him.

“Merlin,” Mithian said, her eyes on the keys hanging in midair.

He hunched his shoulders and the keys dropped to the floor.

Arthur stared down at the key ring and then scowled at Merlin, but before he could snap out a suitable reprimand the keys flew back up into the air, narrowly missing his chin and causing him to duck back.

“Merlin!” the king shouted.

The sorcerer watched the keys with open-mouthed surprise. “That wasn’t me,” he protested.

The key ring shook in midair, making a loud jangling, and Niniane laughed. Then it leapt into her outstretched hands and she shook it again, delighted at the noise it made.

All four adults exchanged a look before turning their attention back to the little girl Gwen was holding.

“I thought magic doesn’t usually show up until one is … older,” Gwen said. “Morgana was an adult before there was any sign of her ability.”

Mithian narrowed her eyes at Merlin. “How old were you the first time you used magic?”

He flushed. “Well, I don’t actually remember, but my mother said it was when I was in the cradle.”

They looked at Niniane again, who happily shook the key ring and laughed.

Mithian laid a hand on her belly and Arthur raised his brows at the gesture.

“Merlin and Mithian are having a baby,” Gwen said.

“Again?”

Erec tugged at the king’s shirt. “Did I win the fight?”

Arthur’s attention snapped back to the boy in chagrin.

“It seems you did,” Gwen said.

“I was distracted,” Arthur protested.

Erec put his hands on his hips. “Then the enemy can kill you.”

Gwen and Mithian laughed aloud.

Merlin smothered his grin when Arthur gave him a sharp look.

“About those keys –” the king began when there was a knock at the chamber door

A harried Leon entered at the same time the warning bells began to chime.

“Sire, you better come quickly. The people are in a panic.”

“What’s going on?” the king demanded.

“A dragon has attacked the city.”

Arthur glanced at Merlin. “Attacked?”

“It flew over and is circling the citadel,” Leon said.

“What colour is it?” Merlin asked.

Leon regarded him in surprise. “What colour?”

“Yes, how big and what colour?”

The First Knight met his eyes gravely. “It’s not nearly so large as the one which laid waste to Camelot some years ago and much lighter in hue.” He turned his attention back to Arthur. “It’s the one that attacked you in Ismere, Sire, and which has assaulted us more than once since. We should prepare our defenses.”

The king looked at Merlin, who nodded and hurried out of the chamber. Instead of heading for the courtyard, he took a staircase that would lead him up to one of the highest peaks of the castle. When he reached the battlement, he rushed out to see Aithusa circling in the air. Although the spring day was warm, the wind was cold so high up, the air further stirred by the dragon’s wings when she came closer, whipping his hair around.

At the dragonlord’s appearance, the white dragon perched herself as best she could on the wide parapet. Her heavy tail knocked loose a few stones which rattled down the side of the tower and dropped onto the courtyard below.

Merlin noted with satisfaction that she had grown in size and her deformities had become less noticeable. Her legs had thickened and her wings had lengthened, although she was only a quarter the size of the Great Dragon.

She nodded her head in greeting and he responded in kind.

“I bring you sad news, my lord,” Aithusa croaked.

Merlin’s delight in hearing her speak was immediately doused by foreboding.

“Kilgharrah is dead,” the dragon said.

Merlin closed his eyes briefly. “Thank you for telling me.”

“He was pleased that he lived to see all you dreamt of building come to pass and he said it was a privilege to have known you,” she recited.

Merlin was silent for a moment, his head bowed.

There was a scuffle in the stairwell behind him and Merlin looked back to see Arthur motion his knight to accompany him downstairs. Leon’s perplexed expression was heightened when the king sheathed the sword he had drawn and gestured at his knight to do the same. With a final glance upwards, Leon followed the king down the staircase.

At their departure, Merlin saw Gwen standing on the stairs with Mithian and Erec behind her. The queen set Niniane down and followed Arthur and Leon to assist in quelling whatever panic was brewing.

Merlin looked at Aithusa. “Do you know what has become of Morgana?”

The white head dipped. “Yes. She’s safe and well.” The dragon raised her head again and met his eyes.

An echo of remorse went through him for what Morgana had become and what he had robbed her of, but there had been no other way. Now the time for bloodshed and battles was over. “I understand your bond with her will not be broken and I will not keep you from her.”

Aithusa acknowledged that concession with a bow of her head.

The white dragon had begun to develop the thick ridge of scales above her eyes and down her neck which Kilgharrah had worn and a nub had formed between her ears where she would have an adult horn. Merlin wondered whether she had grown to possess some of the knowledge of her mentor as well.

“I was shown a vision,” he said. “I saw Arthur fall in battle, struck down by Mordred. And Kilgharrah told me long ago that it was Mordred’s destiny to bring about Arthur’s doom. Has this been averted, or is that prophecy yet to come true?”

The white dragon shook her head sadly. “I’m young; I have little knowledge of the past, so I cannot see much of the future.”

Despite his disappointment, Merlin nodded in acceptance of her words. He looked back into the stairwell behind him where Mithian stood holding Niniane’s hand. Erec caught his eye and started up the steps. Mithian opened her mouth to call the child back but Merlin shook his head.

When Erec reached the parapet, his eyes widened at the sight of the dragon and his face lit up.

“Hello,” the dragon croaked.

The boy’s eyes grew wider at hearing the creature speak to him but he bent his tiny frame in a properly respectful bow. “Good day.”

Aithusa cocked her head at him.

Erec examined her with equal intensity. “My name is Erec and I have seen three winters.”

The dragon twitched the powerful wings folded at her sides. A tiny shower of rocks trickled from the battlement. “I am called Aithusa.”

“Can you play with me?”

There was a swell of noise from below and a crossbow bolt sailed over their heads.

Merlin glanced down toward the courtyard. “Not today, and not here,” he said to Erec. Then he frowned at Aithusa. “Where will you go?”

“You can call me any time you wish and I will come,” Aithusa said.

Merlin recognized the rebuke. He thought how quickly the last two years had sped by and how little attention he had given the young dragon. “I will,” he promised.

Erec’s face had fallen when he realized the dragon was about to leave, but he brightened at the prospect of seeing the creature again.

Another yell echoed from below followed by a shouted command. With a final look back, Aithusa lifted into the air, sending another loosened stone clattering down. Someone in the courtyard swore loudly.

Merlin and Erec watched as the white dragon flew north past the city proper, then the lower town beyond the city walls, until she disappeared in the distance.

Once Aithusa was gone, Merlin lifted Erec to carry him back into the citadel. The boy was staring at the spot where the dragon had disappeared from sight.

~

Aldric slammed his hand down on the Round Table. “Why do we sit here talking when that monster is roaming loose?” His disfigured face was twisted with fury, his one good eye fixed on Merlin with even more hatred than usual.

A few of the others nodded in agreement and Arthur recognized both anger and fear in the faces of those knights who had fought for Camelot during the Great Dragon’s assault long ago.

The king called for quiet and the raised voices of those seated at the Round Table ceased one by one. Merlin had told him the purpose for the white dragon’s appearance and in the face of his friend’s inexplicable grief that the larger monster was dead, Arthur had tried to conceal his own relief at the news. He recalled in vivid detail the city in flames night after night, trying to keep up the spirits of exhausted defenders by day, followed by months spent rebuilding the citadel and the town. The creature which had paid them a visit that afternoon had caused enough harm by its appearance alone, and Arthur judged it to be less than half the size of the other beast.

“Leon,” Arthur demanded. “Did the dragon do any damage in the city or out of it?”

“None, Sire,” the knight said.

“Was anyone injured?”

“A few in the marketplace when there was a panicked rush for cover and one of the palace servants was grazed by a falling stone,” Leon said.

Arthur met the eyes of each of the room’s occupants who still appeared angry or fearful. “So the dragon did not attack anyone or destroy any property?”

“No, Sire.”

“Is the creature gone?”

Leon gave an affirmative nod. “It seems so, Sire.”

“Then I see no need for any further action on our part,” the king said.

There was some muttering but no one protested.

Aldric’s knuckles were white where he grasped the table, his jaw tightly clenched, but he said no more.

“Is there any other business we need to take care of since we are assembled?”

The First Knight slowly stood and cleared his throat without raising his eyes. “Actually, there is news that came to us earlier. I was about to alert you when the dragon was sighted.”

“What is it?” Arthur asked when Leon hesitated.

“It seems that King Urien was wed this past autumn.”

Arthur was mildly surprised at the news, but puzzled at Leon’s anxious expression. “He has been widowed for some time, surely it’s no concern of ours.”

“It is his choice of bride,” Leon said. “He has married Morgana Pendragon.”

A hush fell over the room at this announcement.

“She’s a traitor to Camelot,” Percival said. “How can she live openly in a kingdom that has pledged fealty to Arthur?”

“She is a king’s daughter,” Ector said. “And now a queen. She will not be held to account for her past deeds.”

“There is more, Sire.”

All heads turned to Leon with trepidation.

“Word is that the queen of Rheged is with child.”

 _So Morgana would have an heir and he did not_ , Arthur thought. That did not bode well for the future. “Well, it will be some time before his mother’s bitterness and his father’s ambition poison that poor child’s mind,” he said aloud. “If there is nothing more?”

Leon sat down and no one else spoke.

“Thank you all,” the king dismissed them.

Aldric marched out of the room, scowling.

As the others who had been gathered at the Round Table followed him out, Arthur turned to see the downcast expression on Guinevere’s face. She remained seated, her hands folded before her.

“If you had an heir,” the queen said, “Morgana would no longer be a threat. There would be no question of who would succeed you to the throne.”

Arthur took her face in his hands and forced her to look at him. “I would give you the world, anything you asked for, and I regret that I never gave you a child.” He brushed her cheek with his thumb. “But there is no other I could ever love. Without you, everything I have, everything I accomplished, would be hollow.”

A smile touched her face. She laid one hand on top of his where it rested on her cheek.

He glanced sideways at Merlin. “Soon you’ll be able to help Mithian juggle another child.”

“Again?” Gwaine said, overhearing Arthur’s comment.

“What’s that?” Percival asked with interest, glancing sideways at them.

“Merlin and Mithian are having a baby.”

“Again?”

The sorcerer gave them both a grin while ignoring their rude gestures, but Arthur thought there was a graveness behind Merlin’s lighthearted response to their teasing. The two knights followed the others out of the hall, chuckling to themselves.

“What are you worried about?” the king asked after the others had left. “Neither Morgana nor her child will be a threat any time soon. You’ve fulfilled that destiny you were always babbling on about.”

Arthur recognized the look Merlin gave him in response, that all-knowing expression.

“I know. And whatever is to come will come in its own time.”

“What do you mean? What happens next?”

“I can’t see the future,” Merlin replied with a shudder. “Well I could with the Crystal of Neahtid but no good ever comes of it.”

Arthur stared for a moment, wondering if he would ever cease to be surprised by some new revelation about Merlin. He shook his head. “Well, thanks to you I have more than enough to keep me busy for the rest of my life. I thought one kingdom was enough of a responsibility.” He heaved a sigh.

Merlin raised one brow. “You think you’ll be able to handle all that on your own? I’ll have my hands full keeping your head from outgrowing your waistline. And that’s quite a feat.”

“Merlin,” Arthur said. “Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments! I hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> There are four more chapters but if you do not want to go down the dark road do not read on.


	17. Winter, 21st Year of Arthur’s Reign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nineteen years after the lands of Albion were united in peace and acceptance of magic, King Arthur is called to fight across the sea. With Merlin absent and Arthur presumed dead, Morgana seizes her chance to finally reclaim the crown of Camelot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: character death.

_“Ástríce_!” she shouted.

When the bolt of lightning shot toward him, Merlin caught it easily. He rolled the magic in his palm and its raw power sent a tingle up his arm. Then he blasted it outward, back toward the sorceress who had conjured it. “ _Forbærne! Ácwele_.”

She threw up a shield. The ball of magic exploded in the air at her outstretched hand and sent a cascade of colourful sparkles into the air. One landed on a dry flower stalk at their feet and a curl of smoke drifted up.

“Well done,” Merlin said. “How did you make the colours?”

Niniane shrugged. “I thought how pretty it would look, like flowers when the garden is in bloom.” She glanced at the thin curl of smoke. The dried stalk burst into flame, then the flame lifted into the air to hang between them. Her eyes flashed gold again and the orange tongue of fire turned red, then purple, then blue, then green, then yellow. Niniane smiled.

Merlin’s eyes flickered gold and the suspended flame split into six sparks, each a different colour. He held out his hand and the flickers coalesced to hover over his palm. He put his other hand on top and when he opened his cupped hands six tiny, star-shaped blossoms sat there. He offered them to Niniane who took the bouquet with a delighted smile.

“I wish I could conjure up something solid like that,” she said.

“You’re doing well; I barely knew a single enchantment when I was your age.” He smiled at her. “Albion will be safe as long as we have you.”

“You keep the kingdom safe; you don’t need my help.”

“I won’t be here forever.” Merlin looked up at the white walls topped by turrets and pointed roofs towering above the palace garden. A vast flock of crows banked in the air above them, calling loudly. Nightfall came early this time of year.

 “Tell me about coming to Camelot,” Niniane asked. “Tell me the story about Nimueh.”

“You know that story better than I do.”

The girl had a faraway look. “Imagine, facing a powerful sorceress when you have hardly any training in magic, and killing her dead.”

Merlin frowned. “There’s nothing admirable in killing someone.”

“She would have killed you,” Niniane said. “She almost killed Hunith and I would have been sad if I had never known her. I’m sorry I never knew Gaius.”

A familiar ache squeezed Merlin’s heart. “I wish you had been old enough to remember him.”

He laid a hand on Niniane’s shoulder and steered her toward the doorway which led into the castle.

She clutched the tiny bouquet as they entered the citadel. He was smiling down at her, still holding her shoulder, when Lord Lamorak and Lady Laudine met them in the corridor. Lamorak gave them a knowing smirk and Laudine gave a reproachful sniff.

Merlin saw himself and Niniane through their eyes: a grown man, dark hair thinning at his temples, his arm around a beautiful brown-haired girl holding flowers. Lady Laudine grasped her husband’s arm to steer him away from Niniane and march away down the corridor.

Niniane watched their backs retreat. “You’re going to be the subject of more gossip.”

Merlin gave her a startled look. “You’re too young to know about that kind of talk.”

She giggled. “Then I shouldn’t know that the king had Sir Accolon in the stocks last week for making a joke about you and Arthur.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Merlin said. “Does your mother know you’ve been listening to gossip not fit for your tender ears?”

By the wary look on her face he guessed the answer was no. He sighed inwardly. “No, I won’t tell her what you overheard as long as you never repeat it.”

Niniane gave him a grateful smile. “Speaking of Mother, I should get back to our chambers. She was looking tired.”

Merlin felt a stab of worry. The last time Mithian had been tired so often it had taken Alice weeks to heal the strange sickness. But that had been a few years ago, and Mithian had been fine since, so it was likely just a winter cold which was draining her.

After Niniane disappeared down the corridor, Merlin turned to stare out at the garden, now a square of dried flower stalks sticking up beside stiff yellow grass. He remembered that early battle with Nimueh, her self-satisfied smirk erased when she looked up at the storm brewing above her head. It had all seemed so important then – destiny, keeping Arthur and the kingdom safe, facing one threat after another. The future of the world had rested on him. At times he had felt the weight of that destiny crushing him, but finally he had accomplished all that had been entrusted to him: Arthur was High King, magic had returned.

Now a generation had passed, people barely remembered Uther’s reign of terror, and Morgana had made no further move against Arthur, apparently content as queen of Rheged. All that had been so important then, his destiny, was in the past now. Even his memories of how hard it had been were dimming. No evil High Priestesses occupied him with threats, magical or otherwise. No sorcerers schemed vengeance against Camelot. He was free. His time was spent on nothing more dangerous than an occasional mischievous sprite or a spell gone wrong.

He was standing in the hallway, staring out at the winter-dried garden, when Arthur hailed him.

“Merlin, what are you doing?”

With turning he responded, “I’m like a swan.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It looks like I’m not doing anything but there’s a lot going on underneath.”

Arthur came to stand beside him. “Right, shirking your duties as usual.”

“Shouldn’t you be doing kingly things instead of bothering me?”

“I spent all day yesterday settling petty disputes between petty lordlings and all morning listening to Bayard complain about every little thing currently plaguing each citizen of Mercia if that is what you mean by kingly things.”

“Sounds important. Besides, I was tired of traipsing around the country saving your royal backside from the life-threatening dangers you think are fun.”

“Were you really?” Arthur said. “I think you enjoyed traipsing around the countryside risking your life on a weekly basis.” The king sighed and stared out at the dried grass and dead flower stalks. “Being a king used to mean leading an army.”

“You can’t want more war and death.”

“No. My people suffered enough, but …”

Merlin looked at Arthur when his voice trailed off. “But you feel like you’re no longer doing what you were born to do?”

The king nodded. “I haven’t wielded a sword except in training for years. At least the knights get patrol duty, but even they grow restless. Fighting men with no one to fight. Except each other.”

“On the training field or in the tavern?”

“Both,” Arthur said.

“So you’re down here hiding from Gwen?”

Arthur frowned. “I am not hiding from Guinevere.”

“Arthur.”

He jumped and turned immediately at the sound of the queen’s voice, using one elbow to jab Merlin in the ribs for his snicker.

“King Alined is waiting in the throne room to speak with you,” Gwen said.

“What does he want?”

“He says you spent two hours this morning with Lord Bayard and that Gwynedd is as important as Mercia and he deserves an equal amount of your time.”

Arthur ground his teeth. “I spent two hours listening to Bayard’s long-winded complaints about nothing. It was hardly an indication of respect, I just couldn’t get a word in edgewise to tell him to leave.”

The corners of Gwen’s mouth twitched. “Nevertheless, Alined is expecting you.”

Arthur scowled at Merlin. “This is all your fault. I never asked to be High King.” With a final jab in the ribs for the smirk Merlin did not hide, Arthur kissed his wife and strode away down the corridor.

“Ungrateful prat,” Merlin said.

Gwen watched Arthur go, then turned an appraising look on Merlin. “If you have any thought of inventing an excuse to drag him off to the Valley of the Fallen Kings in search of some deadly threat to the kingdom, you can forget it.”

“I would never.” Merlin placed one hand on his heart in a gesture of hurt.

Gwen lifted a brow. “You two are far too alike.”

Merlin’s mouth dropped open. “We are nothing alike.”

“Except you’re both happiest when you’re risking your lives to fight the forces of evil.”

“People think I am the force of evil.”

Gwen stepped closer and laid a hand on his arm. “Merlin, that is not true.”

“I see them make the sign against the devil when I walk by. Even those with magic look at me like I’m something other than human.”

“You should be pleased to be recognized for all you’ve done. And the only ones who accuse you of evil are the ignorant and those who resent your continued refusals to serve their best interests instead of Arthur and Camelot.”

Merlin grimaced at the propositions a few of Arthur’s nobles had put forward over the years. “Why does Arthur put up with them?”

“You know as well as I do that he must retain the loyalty of all the landholders who have sworn fealty to him in order to command those who have sworn fealty to _them_ and all the way down the line.” Gwen’s gaze went past him to the dried garden. “That’s why I treat them with respect despite knowing what they think of me. They believe if God had intended me to be queen I would have been born a noble like themselves.”

Merlin glanced down at the top of Gwen’s head, the royal circlet pinned to her dark curls. Perhaps she had even heard the rumours about how her barrenness was God’s judgement on the king for marrying beneath him.

She met his eyes. “I for one am happy that the worst threat Arthur faces is boredom. I worry what will become of me if anything happens to him.”

“Arthur has made it clear he intends you to succeed him. He has always made you Regent when he’s away.”

Gwen sighed. “And as long as his courtiers know he is returning, they will honour that wish. But if Arthur were truly gone, well, I fear for the kingdom and myself.”

Merlin squeezed her arm the way she had done for him earlier. “The people love you, Gwen. And the knights are loyal to you.”

“The people, yes, and Leon and Gwaine and the other knights would never question Arthur’s wishes. But the nobles – there are several who are convinced any one of them is more fit to rule than I am.”

“They’re wrong,” Merlin said.

Gwen looked up at him and smiled. “I better get up to the throne room and rescue Arthur. By the way, Gwaine was looking for you.”

“Erec skipped training again?”

“I didn’t ask, but if you know where the boy is you may want to speak with him.”

“I might know where to look.”

 

Merlin found old Geoffrey dozing in his customary chair at the archive entrance, a candle guttering on the small table which held his ink well and quill. Despite his advanced age, he was a constant presence in his precious library, updating lists of records and cataloguing each document. Even the contents of the secret rooms that had been well hidden in Uther’s time were now meticulously recorded. To the best of Merlin’s knowledge, no one else had entered the archives in years, relying on Geoffrey’s store of facts to answer any question shouted loudly enough for him to hear. If he needed to consult one of the records, the old man shuffled slowly into the archives himself, unwilling to let anyone else disturb the neat order. No one was allowed to roam about unaccompanied by the archivist.

The one exception to this rule was Erec. Geoffrey was far more tolerant of Erec’s frequent presence than he ever had been of Merlin’s trips into the library during his youth. Even now, the sorcerer whispered a few words to ensure the old archivist would slip deeper into his slumber before silently tiptoeing past. He went directly to the section that held the records of magical beasts.

Erec was seated cross-legged on the floor, a book of dragonlore open in his lap.

Without looking to see who had found him, he pointed excitedly at a passage on the open page. “Aithusa said –”

“You were speaking with Aithusa?”

The boy glanced up with an unrepentant grin. “You know I meet her in the clearing every new moon. Mother knows, too, by the way.”

“Does she know I know?”

“Yes. Aithusa said dragons never stop growing. Did you know that?” Without waiting for an answer he continued. “How big was Kilgharrah? Was he black? Because he might be the oldest and largest dragon in any of these records.” He gestured to a small stack piled neatly beside him. “This,” Erec indicated a crude drawing laid on top of the pile, “was drawn to scale by someone who claims to have slain a dragon,” the boy scowled, “and then took time to measure its dimensions. The wing span was exactly the length of the dragon’s body from nose to tail, but there’s no reason to think that’s a constant ratio.” Erec paused and looked up.

Merlin tried to remember what the question had been. “No, Kilgharrah was not exactly black. It was a colour like wet rock, dark on top and golden on his stomach; and he was as large as the citadel courtyard.”

Erec’s eyes lit with excitement. “That is huge. He must have been really old.”

“A thousand years, he told me.”

“His power would have been incredible.” Erec dug into the pile and extracted a thick volume. “Geoffrey gave me this book. It says here the great sword was begotten in the dragon’s breath and he found it ‘passing good.’” The young man looked up. “Is it true the Great Dragon burnished the king’s sword? Were you there? Was it passing good?”

“Yes, yes, and I suppose so,” Merlin answered.

Erec sighed. “That must have been amazing to see.”

Merlin remembered the sword suspended in the air, glowing with its own cold light after the heat of the dragon’s fiery breath had dissipated. It had emanated power, a symbol of destiny. “Yes,” he said softly. “It was passing good.”

“Do you think Aithusa would burnish a sword for me?”

Merlin frowned. “I hope not.”

“Why?” Erec asked.

“Because a sword like that can do much evil. Kilgharrah didn’t want to do it, but the situation was desperate and I begged him. Then it went wrong. The Great Dragon was not happy with me. I hid the sword at the bottom of the Lake of Avalon where no man could wield it until I needed it to defeat Morgause’s immortal army. Then I had to hide it again until finally Arthur could retrieve it.”

Erec stared at him. “How come I haven’t heard those stories?”

Merlin felt his cheeks grow warm. “No one else knows most of that. Just that I put the sword into the stone until Arthur needed it. Of course, Gwen recognized the sword as the finest one her father ever made, but at the time I couldn’t tell her how it came to be where it was and afterwards ...” He shrugged.

“You should tell Geoffrey these things,” Erec said. “He could write it all down and add it to the archives.”

Knowing how fond Erec was of the crusty old man, Merlin suppressed his shudder at the idea of spending so much time in Geoffrey’s disapproving company. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, you could tell me.”

“What about sword training?”

“I’ll go tomorrow, I promise. It’s not like I’m that good with weapons.”

Merlin crouched down beside the boy seated on the floor. “As someone who has seen more weapons training that anyone should have to endure, trust me when I say you are quite good.”

Erec’s pimpled face coloured slightly. “Not like the king or Gwaine, though.”

“No one can fight like Gwaine, and few can wield a sword like Arthur; that doesn’t mean you’re not skilled. Arthur has been training you since you were barely three winters old, no one gets more of the king’s personal attention, and he wouldn’t do that if he thought you didn’t deserve it.”

Erec’s gaze fell to the book in his lap and he fiddled with the pages. “Some think I’m his illegitimate son.”

“Arthur couldn’t be prouder of you if you were.” Merlin waited, looking at the bent head, wondering what was on the boy’s mind.

Erec looked up. “Why did you never acknowledge us?”

Merlin’s eyes searched his son’s face. He did not see any accusation there, only curiosity, and a longing to understand. “Your mother is a noblewoman, a princess. No matter what my position is now, it does not change the fact that I’m a landless peasant, a commoner. Even the queen herself, despite Arthur’s ennobling her, is considered by some to be unworthy of her position because of her birth.”

Erec tipped his head to the side without breaking eye contact. “You never let what people think stop you from doing anything. There’s more, isn’t there?”

Merlin sighed. Mithian’s son had inherited her ability to see through him, apparently. “When I was your age I wished more than anything for people to know who I really was, and now that they do I wish they would see an ordinary man. I’m glad you can walk down a corridor or practice sword fighting on the training grounds or walk through the marketplace and no one looks at you with fear or awe because of your connection to me. You can attend a feast and everyone speaks to you. You can have friends, even court whoever you wish when the time comes.”

The cheeks in the spotted face reddened. “The daughters of the nobles are too silly to court and most of the boys are more interested in practicing sword-fighting than learning about dragons. The last time we were on the practice field, Cei bragged that if he had been older when the dragon attacked Camelot he would have slain it single-handedly. I said he and his puny sword wouldn’t have gotten anywhere near the Great Dragon, and he said he would and that I was just scared, and I said I would have walked right up to the dragon but I wouldn’t kill it, and he said that proves I’m scared, and we got into a fight.”

“Cei is the big boy? Hair so blond it looks white?”

Erec nodded.

“Should I ask who won the fight?”

Erec shook his head, eyes fixed on the book in his lap. “Sir Gwaine made him stop. He asked me if I was okay and then he told Cei he should be careful because you can’t tell how strong someone is by looking.” Erec did not raise his eyes and Merlin saw the back of his neck redden. “If it was you, you could have flattened him with less than a word.”

“I could, but that wouldn’t make us friends.”

“Why would you want to make friends with him?”

“It’s better than making enemies.”

“I guess.” Erec’s fingers strummed the book’s worn pages. “Are you embarrassed by me, that I don’t have the kind of power Niniane has, that … that you have?”

“No!” Merlin was startled into saying.

Erec stopped worrying at the book and looked at him.

Merlin drew in a breath and gathered his thoughts, wondering how long the boy had harboured such doubts. He laid one hand on the young man’s shoulder and looked directly into the brown eyes that so resembled his mother’s. “You are intelligent and kind and honest and I’m proud of you. I was born with the power I have, to use it for a specific purpose, and there will never be another like me just as there will never be another like you.”

Erec gave him a tentative smile. “Will you tell me the stories about the sword?”

“Yes.” Merlin settled himself more comfortably on the floor with one arm around his son.

~

By the time Merlin and Erec left the archives, Geoffrey had retired. Erec went in search of food and Merlin headed for his chamber wondering if he could convince old Audrey in the kitchen to send him up something to eat. Of all the palace servants, he had thought she would most resent his occupying a position above himself, yet she seemed content to treat him like she treated any of the noble courtiers living in the palace. Then again, that might be because he no longer had any reason to ever be in her kitchen himself.

Merlin walked into his chamber and stopped to stare at the table which normally held a pile of books. Cold meats, bread, an assortment of fruits, and a flagon of wine were laid out.

“You’re late,” said Mithian from her seat at the table.

“Sorry. Erec and I were talking.”

Mithian rolled her eyes even as the corners of her mouth twitched up. “Did the conversation involve dragons?”

“Sort of.”

“Did you speak with him about skipping training?”

“What makes you think he missed training?”

Mithian waited.

“He promises to be there tomorrow.” Merlin looked from Mithian to the food and back again. “I thought you were supposed to be gone hunting all afternoon?”

“I didn’t feel like it.”

Merlin’s brow furrowed. “Niniane said you were tired. You shouldn’t have waited for me, you should have gone to bed.”

“That’s why I’m here.” Mithian stood and moved closer to wrap her arms around him. “I’m not that tired.”

~

Three weeks later Alice patted Mithian’s hand where it lay on the bedcovers and looked up at Merlin.

“Yes, it’s the same kind of sickness, even though the pain is in her shoulder this time.”

“There’s another lump, but it’s not in the same place,” Mithian said.

Alice’s wrinkled face frowned. “I can feel it, but it isn’t a bone or a foreign object. It’s a part of you that’s alive and growing, just growing too much and too quickly. Sometimes these go away with a little help, but there isn’t much either medicine or magic can do without causing damage to the rest of the body.” Alice met Mithian’s eyes. “We will do what we did a few years ago and most likely we’ll send it away again.”

Despite the old woman’s words, Merlin was uneasy at the seriousness of her expression.

“The most important treatment being rest.” Alice looked meaningfully from Merlin to Erec to Niniane to Lynette.

Mithian’s eyelids were heavy and there were dark smudges under her brown eyes. She gave him a wan smile and a tiny nod to confirm that Alice had reduced the pain enough for Mithian to get a good sleep. He forced the corners of his mouth up in response, concentrating on making the smile look genuine.

“Say good night to your mother and make yourselves busy elsewhere,” he told the three young people who stood huddled together at the foot of Mithian’s bed.

“Night? But it’s –”

Niniane elbowed Lynette in the ribs and her sister frowned in response but stopped talking.

“Good night, Mother,” Erec said with a bright smile before leaving the chamber.

The girls glanced at each other and then followed his lead, giving Mithian pleasant smiles as they wished her good night. Alice did the same, leaving Merlin alone with Mithian.

He leaned down to press a kiss on her lips. “Get some rest.”

“I will.” She brushed his cheek with her hand.

When he closed the chamber door behind him he found all three children waiting in the corridor.

“How sick is she?” Erec asked.

“You heard Alice.”

“Yes, but you …” Erec hesitated. “You have power; you can do things Alice can’t.”

Merlin sighed. “Erec, for all my gifts Gaius was a better healer than I was, and Alice is better than either of us. This illness wasn’t caused by magic and I know less about it than she does.”

Erec gave a small nod of understanding.

Merlin pulled him into a hug, then did the same to both girls before he stepped back. “Niniane, take Lynette to your rooms and get something to eat. Let’s leave your mother to have a good sleep and begin to get well.”

~

Rain pounded away the last lingering traces of snow, the days continued to lengthen, and throughout the city people were gratefully spending time out-of-doors after being caged inside through the dark, cold days of winter.

Merlin found Erec and Niniane standing in the hallway as he approached the door to Mithian’s chambers.

“Gwen and Lynette are sitting with her now,” Niniane said.

“How is she?” Merlin asked.

“She’s sleeping. The pain got worse so I used that spell and Mother said she felt much better after and then she finally went to sleep.” Niniane’s glance slid to the closed door and tears she would not allow her mother to see filled her eyes.

“There must be something more you can do,” Erec said, looking between Merlin and Niniane. “All those books you have, there must be a spell to cure her.”

Niniane gave her brother an exasperated look. “It’s not that simple.”

“You think you’re the expert,” Erec retorted.

“Dragons have strong healing magic.” Niniane faced her brother and put her hands on her hips. “There must be a way to make Aithusa help us.”

“Dragons can heal wounds but they cannot cure sickness or disease, at least not human disease,” Erec said.

“What good is that?”

Niniane’s voice had risen and Merlin glanced at the closed chamber door. “Niniane.” He took her arms and turned her to face him. “If your brother could help in any way he would, we all would.” The thought that his power was useless rose up to choke him again and he pushed it away. He released one of his daughter’s arms and took his son’s hand. “Erec, you know we have searched through every book Gaius ever owned twice over and the archives as well,” he said, though his own heart was telling him they should look again. “While your mother is resting you two should get something to eat and get some rest yourselves. It may be a long night.” He squeezed Niniane’s arm and Erec’s hand and then released them both.

“I’m sorry,” Niniane said to her brother.

“I am, too.” He stretched a hand toward his sister. “Come on.”

She bit down on her trembling lip before she took his hand. They both looked at Merlin and he nodded down the corridor in the direction of their rooms.

“I’ll see you later,” he said.

As the two of them retreated, Erec dropped his sister’s hand to put an arm around her shoulders and she leaned against him.

Merlin eased open the chamber door. Gwen and Lynette were sitting one on each side of Mithian’s bed, talking quietly together, each holding one of her hands.

Gwen looked up at his entrance. She stood and eased her hand away from the sleeping form on the bed. Wordlessly, Gwen wrapped Merlin in a hug, then turned toward the door.

“You don’t have to go, Gwen.”

“Mithian doesn’t need a crowd of us around. Besides, there are duties for me to attend to.” Gwen patted his arm before she slipped out and quietly closed the door behind her.

Merlin took the seat the queen had vacated to sit and stare at the pale face on the blankets. Wisps of dark hair had escaped the loose braid to fan out around her head and a few tendrils were stuck to her damp brow.

Merlin brushed the strands away from her forehead. Then he looked at the girl holding her mother’s hand. Lynette’s hair was as dark as Mithian’s, but her blue eyes and features reminded him of his own mother, Hunith. “Have you been sitting here since I left?”

Lynette nodded. “Erec and Niniane were with me for a while, but when the queen came she sent the two of them out because they wouldn’t sit still and they were talking too loudly.”

Merlin grimaced. Both older children were impatient like he had always been. His eyes rested on Lynette as she sat calmly, watching her mother’s sleeping face.

“You are much like your mother,” he said.

Lynette looked up in surprise. “Niniane resembles her more than I do.”

“In features, yes,” Merlin said. “But Niniane is too much like me. You’re lucky enough to be like your mother.”

Lynette looked down and twisted a fold of her skirt with her free hand. “Because I don’t have power?”

“No, because you were born to be a queen.”

The girl’s gaze jumped back to his face. “Mother was only a princess.”

“Well, she was born to be a queen.”

“Does that mean Gwen wasn’t born to be a queen?”

“No.” Merlin smiled slightly at the child’s logic. “I don’t mean your mother was meant to be Arthur’s queen, only that she would have made an admirable ruler.”

“Oh.” Lynette tipped her head to the side. “I think she was happier living here and being with you.”

He caught his breath at the child’s simple statement. “I hope so.”

“Father came by earlier to visit with Mother,” Lynette said.

“Was she awake when he came by?”

“Yes, and he brought Eldred’s best wishes. Then he asked to speak with me. He said that Lord and Lady Pellinore want me to come and stay with them after … after Mother’s illness is over.”

Olwyne’s parents must have missed Lynette’s annual Yule visit. While Erec and Niniane sometimes remained in Camelot, Lynette had spent part of each winter with them as well as every summer. Having never had a daughter, and with two of their three sons gone, they doted on the children their youngest son’s wife had given them. Neither Merlin nor Mithian begrudged them time with the children.

Merlin looked into Lynette’s earnest face. “Would you like to go to them or would you rather be here with your brother and sister?”

“Of course I _want_ to be with you and Erec and Niniane, but, well, I wouldn’t _mind_ going to stay at their estate for a while. Erec and Niniane are always busy, but the Lord and Lady don’t have anything important to keep them occupied and they like having me there.”

The weeks of watching Mithian grow weaker were trying on all of them, and Merlin thought it would be good for Lynette to get away from the atmosphere of sadness after their mourning was done. Perhaps he would do the same for a while. “Then when the time comes we will make arrangements for you, whenever you are ready to go.”

~

Merlin dismounted and looked at the winding paths between steep banks and moss-covered boulders. He could not see the dense forest high above him which topped the rocky inclines, although the air smelled of damp pine needles. A bird call echoed from above. He felt an unexpected wistfulness for the cursed place.

He continued on foot through the valley and came out of the narrow, rocky passage into an open area where the sun was able to reach down and warm him. A pine tree had uprooted and its dirt-coated roots stretched taller than his head. He thought he caught a flicker of movement behind the green branches flattened on the ground, but whether it was an animal or a human it remained well hidden.

The Valley of the Fallen Kings was a refuge for bandits, full of hiding places and ways to escape pursuit. Even the smoke of multiple campfires rarely reached the tops of the towering trees to give away the location of a hideout. But Merlin had discovered on his recent journeys through the area looking for the cave entrance that few outlaws dared to approach him. One group had been foolish enough to do so not long ago and Merlin had wordlessly sent their leader and his sword flying. The rest had scattered and no others had come near him since.

He set his steps in the direction he thought the cave entrance was concealed.

~

Alice found him in the physician’s chambers, perched on the landing of the stairs up to the high bookshelves, staring out the small window at the golden afternoon sunshine.

 “Is there no hope?” Merlin could feel warm tears leak from his eyes and crawl down his cheeks. “You cured her last time, and it’s been years, she’s been fine. I’ve seen you work miracles.” His voice trailed away at the look of pity in Alice’s lined face.

“I am sorry, Merlin. My skills are great but it’s more insidious this time. In cases like this, it’s as if the body attacks itself and anything I try makes it worse instead of better.” She laid her wrinkled hand on his cheek and brushed away the tears with her thumb. “All I can do is ease her pain.”

“Aithusa …” he began.

“You told me the dragon said there was nothing she could do.”

His tears flowed faster and Alice wrapped him tightly in a hug.

“My dear boy, I’m sorry to see you endure this hurt. I know Gaius’ loss pains you after all this time, and your mother’s. I watched how you cared for her in those last years, how much you loved her, and you don’t deserve more grief. I wish I had the words to ease your sorrow. Just know I’m here for you.”

“Do you think,” Merlin looked into Alice’s eyes, “that destiny is taking her away because I’m not supposed to be here anymore?”

Alice held his gaze. “Why would you say that?”

Merlin hesitated and he looked away from her. “I have a feeling I shouldn’t be here now; that I should have left when Arthur united the lands of Albion. I was never supposed to make a life here.”

“Where should you be?”

“I’ve been searching in the Valley of the Fallen Kings and a fortnight ago I found it. It’s been calling to me in my dreams, the Cave, the Crystals.”

Alice’s grey brows drew together. She wondered briefly if he had lost his reason in his grief, but his eyes were clear. “What cave?”

“The Crystal Cave, where magic began.”

“The Crystal Cave? But that’s a legend,” she said.

He shook his head slowly. “I’ve been shown it once before. But I could never again find the entrance. Until now.”

“Camelot is your home. We need you here.”

“There was a time when that was true, but not anymore. It used to be so important: saving Arthur’s life, the endless battles, the call of destiny. Now it’s over, Arthur is a great king, people with magic are free, everyone knows who I am, and they look at me with fear or with awe because of it.”

Alice smoothed the dark hair as if he were a child and not a grown man. “It’s because of all you did that I can live here without fear. I’m grateful beyond words for that, and for all you did for Gaius. You brought such joy into his life. And to both of us by giving us the chance to spend a short time together; it was more than I hoped for. I know you feel your gifts have no more purpose to serve here, but surely –”

“It’s more than that. There was a time when I was meant to be here, but that time is past. My life has always been marked out by destiny; it was destiny that brought me to Camelot when I was needed here and it was destiny that crossed my path with Arthur’s. I had the power I needed when I needed it, and when I faltered the right person was beside me to help. Now destiny is calling me elsewhere.”

Alice stepped back and lowered her elderly frame onto the wooden bench, tucking a stray lock of grey hair behind her ear. “Calling you where?”

“I don’t know, but it involves the Crystal Cave.”

“That’s why you found it now and not before?”

“Yes.”

“What will all of us do here without you?”

Merlin smiled even though his eyes remained bleak. “Arthur will listen to boring speeches and boss around the knights, Gwen will keep him in line, Gwaine will get drunk and Percival will bail him out of tavern brawls, Erec will watch over Aithusa, and Niniane will watch over Arthur. They don’t need me.”

“Lynette is only twelve years old.”

“I wasn’t much older when my mother sent me across two kingdoms to live with a man I had never met. Lynette has Olwyne and his family to take good care of her. She’ll marry a prince and rule a kingdom.”

Alice laid a wrinkled hand on his shoulder. “We’ll miss you anyway.”

“I’ll miss you all, too, and maybe I won’t be gone forever.”

~

Something woke him. His eyes flew open but Mithian’s chamber was dark. He was still sitting in the chair by her bed but his head had dropped onto his arms beside her pillow.

Her hand was trembling. Her head twisted and a slight moan escaped her.

Merlin held out his hand. “ _Leoht_.” A ball of light lifted above the bed to cast a soft blue illumination on Mithian’s face.

He put his hand on her brow and pulled back the damp locks from her face. Her eyes opened and fastened on his. Her hand tried to grasp his but her grip was too weak so he entwined his fingers with hers.

“Merlin.” Her voice was weak and ended in a cough.

“Don’t speak, save your strength.”

The corners of her lips twitched. “Wherever you’re going, take care of yourself.”

He opened his mouth to protest that he was not going anywhere and then smiled instead. “I always take care of myself.”

A laugh tried to escape her but it turned into a fit of coughing. She closed her eyes and caught her breath. He reached to smooth her hair back again but his hand was trembling and he clenched his fist tightly so she would not see.

The door to the antechamber swung open and Niniane stood on the threshold, a pale blue ball of light on her outstretched palm, Erec and Lynette behind her. Merlin motioned them forward.

Mithian’s breathing evened out and she opened her eyes again as the three children approached her bedside to crowd around the opposite side from Merlin. Her head turned toward them. Lynette reached for her mother’s hand and patted it gently.

“I am proud of all of you.” Her voice was weaker; she barely had the breath to cough. “Love each other.”

A shudder went through her and her fingers tightened on Merlin’s before they went limp.

Sobs tore from Niniane as she dropped to her knees beside the bed; tears filled Erec’s eyes and rolled down his cheeks. Lynette, between them, let go of her mother’s lifeless hand to clasp her sister’s shoulder and her brother’s arm, then she bowed her head and allowed her own tears to fall.

Merlin’s head dropped back onto his arms, weeping, Mithian’s hand still clutched in his.

~

Niniane reined in her horse and checked the ground carefully. He had definitely gone into the Valley of the Fallen Kings. She dismounted and made her way into the winding rocky gorges, over fallen tree trunks, watching her step on the uneven ground where small stones shifted under her feet. The moss-covered rock walls were slippery to the touch and tree trunks which had fallen across the towering banks blocked the little sunlight that penetrated the dense forest above. Further ahead the passage widened and the air warmed. A section of the forest floor had been lifted into the air along with the roots of a fallen pine tree.

A bird took to the air, screeching loudly, and suddenly Niniane found herself surrounded by a half dozen rough-looking men brandishing a variety of weapons. She glanced down and realized that in her haste she had thrown her fur-trimmed silk cloak over her simple riding clothes instead of wearing something that made her less of a target for thieves scenting a rich ransom. With a sigh, she stood immobile and waited for the leader to make himself known.

A man with black eyes set close together and dirty, unkempt hair and beard strode forward, leering at her. His blade was held loosely in his fist. His gaze ran down her and slowly up again and Niniane repressed a shudder.

“You’ll bring a fair price, I think,” he said. He slid the sword into the rope belted around his waist and moved closer.

“If you value your life, you won’t take another step.”

His eyes widened in surprise at her words, then he let out a deep chuckle. He glanced around at the circle of men who likewise guffawed at the young, unarmed girl speaking to them in such an arrogant tone. Only one of them stepped back from her, his brow furrowed.

The leader grinned wider. “No need to be scared. We’ll take good care of a pretty thing like you until someone who cares sends the right amount of coin.”

Niniane’s eyes flashed gold and the leader grunted as he found himself thrown backward through the air several paces, his neck cracking against a fallen tree trunk when he landed. Four of the other men rushed toward her but she spread her hands and all four were tossed aside. From the corner of her eye she saw the last man turn and run, leaving his fellows where they lay.

Then she closed her eyes and tried to sense where the place Merlin called the Crystal Cave was. Frustrated, she turned her attention back to the soft forest floor, glad her mother had taught her how to follow a trail, and ruled out the tracks of the bandits. One other person had passed here recently, and she set off in the same direction.

Niniane found herself on a remarkably straight track which cut through tall boulders. Abruptly her steps slowed and she clapped her hands over her ears. She cringed even though the sounds around her were only the usual forest life and a breeze rustling the topmost tree branches. She realized the screeching she heard was inside her head and looked around in alarm, then she looked up. What had seemed to be two tall trees on either side of the path were two enormous wooden statues in the shape of crowned figures facing each other.

Niniane stepped back, fighting an urge to turn and run, even though the trail continued on between the figures further into the forest. She was certain the way to the Crystal Cave lay ahead, so Merlin must have passed this way despite the air of doom about the place. Careful not to touch either of the statues, she pressed forward.

The screeching faded but did not disappear entirely and she saw several more carvings in the shape of faces half buried by leaves and vines crowding the trees. Then the trail itself turned into a series of man-made steps leading down into a small gulley.

Niniane kept going until she reached a tiny pond, surprised to find a man standing at the far side of the water, watching her. He was thin, with white hair and beard cropped short. His clothes were odd-looking: fashioned in a style that would have seemed ancient in Roman times but in remarkably good repair as if they were newly made.

“Hello again,” he said.

Niniane wondered if he was senile, or if he thought she was someone else. “We’ve never met.”

“We haven’t yet but we will have, and not too long from now if my memory serves me correctly. I must say you’ve hardly grown any younger.”

She was glad of the space between them because she had no way of knowing if his madness made him dangerous. Yet he may be able to help her. “Have you seen someone else come this way recently? A man?”

“Ah, you are looking for Emrys, which would explain why you are here ahead of our appointed meeting time.”

That he knew Merlin’s Druid name meant the man must be a sorcerer or a Druid himself, but he had likely been alone for a long time to be so muddled. “Yes, I’m looking for Emrys. Do you know where he is now?”

“He entered the Crystal Cave.”

“The Crystal Cave, that’s what I have come to find.” Niniane’s excitement overrode her caution and she took a step closer to the strange man.

Taliesin shook his head. “It is not yet time for me to show you the Crystals.”

She wondered if it would be better to tell him they had no future appointment or to try to convince him that it was, in fact, that time.

A tiny smile played across the lined face. “I am sorry, my dear, but you’ll have to be patient. The future is hidden from all but a very few, yet you will have your chance. You will see the Crystals when you are meant to see them and Emrys will return when he is meant to return. All in good time.”

Niniane opened her mouth to argue with the senile old sorcerer but a brilliant flash behind him forced her to raise her hand to shield her eyes. When she looked again, no one was there. She glanced around, listening carefully, but there was no sound of human footfalls. Thankful that he was gone since he was not willing to help her, Niniane stepped around the pond to where the old man had stood only to find that the path ended in a solid wall of stone.


	18. Spring, 21st Year of Arthur’s Reign

Mordred glanced at his accomplices. Ragnor had refused to join them, swearing that more wealth was to be made in the slave trade than through ransoms. Mordred thought it likely Ragnor was simply too smart to deal with nobles, preferring to work with thieves and cutthroats who could be trusted to keep their end of good faith bargains.

But Dinadan had sworn to Mordred and Bors that one ransom would make the three of them rich. Mordred was tired of being a fugitive, tired of spending each moment waking or sleeping with a weapon near to hand, tired of living among men who called taverns and whorehouses home. He wanted to settle down, have a garden and a few animals, even convince Kara to join him and they could finally be together for longer than a few nights.

Kara had fared little better than he had since Aglain had been killed and their campmates scattered by Arthur’s attack to “rescue” Morgana. Mordred had not found Kara again until his gang of slavers crossed paths with the group of mercenaries she had allied herself with to rob a shipment of arms heading to Camelot.

Kara had not forgiven or forgotten the raid Arthur had led on Aglain’s camp, the raid that killed her father and brother and left her mother crippled. Mordred had not been able to dissuade her from attacking the arms shipment, so he had gone with her and the two of them barely made it back with their lives. Kara had been badly wounded, which left her with a scarred leg and a permanent limp. Despite her injury, she refused to give up her vendetta against Arthur, instead allying herself with a succession of mercenaries and criminals. The last he heard she ended up in Rheged.

Which was the place Mordred had suggested to Dinadan that they put the man’s plan for wealth into action. Dinadan was doubtless exaggerating what they would get for a ransom, but half the amount he claimed would be enough for Mordred. Enough to make a home and possibly persuade Kara there was no point in continuing her crusade. Even Morgana herself had not made a move against Arthur since Urien’s last assault on Camelot fifteen years ago.

From his position crouched behind a fallen tree at the far side of the road, Bors signalled that horses were approaching. Dinadan, hidden behind a clump of heavy brush closer to the bend in the road that would keep them from view until the horses came around it, acknowledged the signal. Once the riders came around the curve, Dinadan would be behind them and Bors in front of them, both armed with swords, short swords, and daggers. Both men were to wait for Mordred, concealed behind a tree across the road from Bors, to make the first move if the riders were wealthy and vulnerable enough to make a suitable target.

Bors glared at Mordred. The last three groups to ride through had been either nobles too well protected to attack or tradesmen whose relatives would not have sufficient funds to ransom them, and patience was not one of Bors’s virtues. If he had any.

Two horses came in sight at a full gallop, hooves pounding against the hard ground, the sound echoing back from the trees. The leader was a young boy of eleven or twelve, and Mordred glimpsed a cloak made of a shiny material flying behind the boy and fine leather boots. The man behind him was clearly a servant.

“My lord,” the man shouted.

The boy looked over his shoulder and laughed. Mordred heard hoofbeats further away and guessed the boy was either eluding his guards or racing them. Mordred stretched out a hand, closed his fist on empty air, and executed a grasping motion. The boy was yanked from his mount. His eyes went wide as the horse kept running while the young man found himself sprawled on the dusty ground.

The servant yanked hard on his horse’s reins and the animal whinnied in protest. The man leapt from his mount to stand over the fallen boy, looking around defiantly for something to protect the child from.

Bors, who had the best view past the bend in the road, scrambled from cover shouting there were four guards headed towards them. Dinadan rushed forward as well, drawing his blade as he ran.

The servant was unarmed but he did not budge, apparently intending to defend the boy with his bare hands. Dinadan ran the man through, then tossed the body over his horse without pause. The boy screamed and leapt to his feet, his hand going to the short sword at his waist. Bors landed a blow to the boy’s jaw that knocked him unconscious.

Dinadan lashed one hand and one foot of the servant’s body to his horse and gave it a whack on the rump to send it galloping after the boy’s vanished mount.

Bors threw the child over his shoulder and he and Dinadan bolted for cover, crouching down beside Mordred. He saw tears drying on the boy’s face below the closed eyelids. The sorcerer whispered a few words and a breeze smoothed the ground where the boy had landed and fallen leaves covered the blood stains.

Four riders galloped into sight. They did not pause or look around, riding hard after the two disappeared horses.

Dinadan and Bors exchanged a triumphant look before turning to make their way quickly to their well-hidden mounts tethered deeper in the forest. Mordred stood for a moment, staring after the guards, his heart beating wildly. They had been wearing the insignia of the royal house of Rheged.

~

By the time they reached their camp, the boy, who had been flung over Bors’ horse, was beginning to whimper and twitch. Dinadan was the first to dismount and Bors tossed him the boy’s limp form. Dinadan tied the child’s hands and hobbled his feet, removed the short sword and dagger he carried, and left him on the ground. Bors took the horses.

The boy’s lashes fluttered, then his eyes opened wide and he screamed.

“Shut it,” Dinadan said.

“You killed him!” The boy’s eyes were hard despite the tears leaking out.

The bandit seemed confused for a moment as though he did not remember running the servant through and this incensed the boy further.

“You killed Cerdic!”

“The servant?” Dinadan asked.

“His name was Cerdic.”

The ex-slaver ignored the boy and looked at Mordred. Then Dinadan’s brow furrowed. “What’s the matter? You said you covered our tracks.”

“I did what I could,” Mordred replied. “But they’ll be coming for us anyway.”

“What d’you mean?” Bors walked over to join them after having tethered the horses.

Mordred nodded toward the cloak he had not examined closely before they took the boy. “He’s royalty.”

Both heads snapped to the boy. His cloak was shot through with silver threads and a silver wolf crest was stitched onto the dark blue material. Despite being bound and unable to get to his feet, the boy returned their stare, his back straight and his eyes icy. The tears on his face had mixed with dust kicked up by the horses leaving grey smudges on his cheeks and his black hair was coated with grime.

 A cold smile widened Dinadan’s thin mouth. “Well, you’ll bring a bigger ransom than I hoped.”

Bors glanced sideways at him, then back at the rich cloak. “But they’ll be searchin’ hard for a princeling.”

“That’s right,” the boy said. “They’ll find me and you’ll pay for having murdered Cerdic.”

Mordred doubted anyone would be concerned about the servant’s fate and he was surprised that the boy cared. A great many people, however, would be concerned about this young man. “We should leave him and ride away.”

“Are you daft?” Dinadan stared at Mordred, then looked back at the prince. “This is a bigger score than we dreamed.”

“With considerably more danger to us,” Mordred said.

Dinadan narrowed his eyes. “Shouldn’t be anything you can’t handle.”

“If this boy is a prince of Rheged, that makes him Morgana’s son.” A sliver of fear crawled down his spine at the memory of his last sight of her in Ismere when he had tried to strike her down.

“Bah.” Dinadan tossed his head. “The witch is powerless, that’s what they say. The king is old and his son is a fop. They’ll pay whatever ransom we demand.”

Bors relaxed at his partner’s assertion. “Yeah, whatever we demand.”

Mordred saw the greed glowing in the man’s green eyes and said nothing further.

~

In spite of their apparent faith in Mordred’s enchantments to cover their trail, the slavers-turned-kidnappers were not so careless as to start a fire. They shared coarse black bread and a few hunks of dried meat. Neither Dinadan nor Bors offered the boy so much as a drink of water.

The prince sat a short distance away from them, his back not as straight as it had been earlier. He slouched and was unable to brace himself with his hands tied. His eyes were fixed on the waterskin they passed around. After taking a deep drink himself, Mordred stood and walked over to the boy.

When he neared, the boy dragged his eyes up from the waterskin to Mordred’s face. His lips set in a stubborn line. Mordred crouched down until his face was on a level with the boy. “What’s your name?”

The eyes widened slightly. “Gareth.”

“Gareth,” Mordred said. “Are you thirsty?”

He watched the struggle on the boy’s face between pride and need. Finally the child nodded. Mordred held the skin to the boy’s lips and helped him take a long drink before holding out a hunk of bread. The prince would never have eaten such coarse bread, but he latched onto it with his bound hands and ate the hunk in three bites, barely chewing before he swallowed. Mordred handed Gareth the waterskin again so he could wash down his dinner.

“Who was Cerdic?”

This time there were no tears but Gareth’s lower lip trembled slightly and he bit down on it. “My friend.”

“You must have dozens of servants.”

Gareth’s lips compressed. “He wasn’t just a servant, he was my friend, and he died protecting me. That man,” the boy indicated Dinadan where he and Bors sat making plans to spend their anticipated wealth, “will pay for what he did.”

“You should be more concerned about what they might do with you.”

“You’ll protect me.”

The boy said it with such utter confidence that Mordred was taken aback. “Why would you think that?”

Gareth looked at him. “You’re a good person.”

Mordred thought about all he had done since childhood, the criminals he called friends, as much as he had friends, and the tear-filled faces of people he had helped sell as slaves. “I’m really not.”

“You’ve been nice to me.”

And yet he had been the one to capture the boy. If Mordred had not made that split-second decision the child would have ridden on and his friend would be alive. “It’s my doing that they caught you.”

Gareth shrugged. “But you didn’t know they would kill Cerdic.”

That was not entirely true, but Mordred did not say anything more. He would soon need the prince’s good opinion. If, as he suspected, Morgana and the king threw all the resources of their kingdom into finding this boy, it would not be long before Mordred and his accomplices were trapped regardless of any of their defenses, magical or otherwise.

Mordred did not intend to face Morgana’s wrath even if she had lost her powers. He could vividly recall her eyes the last time he had seen her; the insanity in her face as she swept aside the dishes of their meal and shouted obscenities at Arthur’s escape, then her look of betrayal after Mordred stabbed her, and the murderous glint in her eyes when his blade had no power to harm her. He would be a fool to cross her again.

A plan began to form in Mordred’s mind. He gave the boy a tiny smile that barely twitched one corner of his mouth before he joined his two companions. Dinadan and Bors had dug up a skin of cheap wine and continued to discuss what they would do with their share of the prince’s ransom. Neither commented on Mordred’s having given the boy food and water.

“What about you?” Bors asked Mordred. “What’ll you do when we’re rich?”

Dinadan slanted Mordred a sly look. “He’ll set up house for that pretty dark-haired wench he likes.”

Mordred was tempted to blast the leer from the man’s face but he held his temper and reached out his hand for the wineskin. He gave it a shake when Bors passed it to him; it was two-thirds empty already. Mordred pretended to take a deep drink before he handed it back. Bors immediately took a swig.

“Hey there, pass that along,” Dinadan said.

Bors took another quick drink, much to his friend’s disgust, before handing it over. Dinadan gulped down what was left as soon as it was in his hands. Seeing the skin was empty, Bors got unsteadily to his feet and walked a short distance away. They heard a stream of liquid hit the rocky ground, then Bors came back, retying his pants and wobbling slightly. As soon as he plunked himself down on his blanket, Dinadan left and then came back to lie down on his own blankets.

Mordred glanced over at Gareth. The boy squirmed slightly and sent him a pleading expression. Mordred’s companions seemed to be settling in even though the sun barely touched the treetops in the west and they had made no plans for getting the ransom request to Rheged. Mordred got to his feet, prepared to explain he was taking the boy to relieve himself, but neither of the other two gave him so much as a glance.

He made his way to Gareth and quietly untied the boy’s feet before helping him up. Gareth opened his mouth but Mordred put a hand to his lips. Wide-eyed, Gareth nodded and allowed the curly-haired man to lead him a ways from their camp in the direction of the horses.

Mordred glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was looking his way as he untethered the horses. He gestured Gareth to come closer and untied his hands. Then the two of them mounted quickly and put their heels to the horses’ sides. Mordred held the reins of the third horse firmly in his fist.

There was a shout from behind them but neither Dinadan nor Bors was quick enough or accurate enough to throw a dagger their way and they did not have a crossbow. Within moments, Mordred and Gareth had disappeared into the trees with only shouted curses chasing after them.

~

The guards at Rheged’s citadel did not hesitate to admit the prince, but they cast suspicious looks at his roughly-dressed companion. The prince insisted the stranger accompany him to the throne room. As they approached the chamber, Mordred’s pace slowed and the guard behind ran into him before giving him a shove. Gareth’s steps, however, had quickened and he was nearly running as he burst through the heavy doors.

“Mother!”

She stood from her throne and rushed forward to meet the boy. Gareth nearly threw himself into her outstretched arms before he caught the eye of the elderly man seated in the other throne and checked his undignified headlong rush. The old king’s disapproving look did not stop Morgana, who clasped the boy tightly and lifted him off his feet.

She looked much the same as the young woman who had cared for Mordred as a boy, who had been overjoyed to see him in Aglain’s camp and again in her chamber when he returned with Alvarr. Her long, dark hair was artfully dressed in an elaborate plait woven with silver links and sparkling with tiny jewels. Her silver gown hugged her slim figure. There was little resemblance to the woman dressed in black rags Mordred had seen in Ismere whose eyes had flashed with madness when she confronted Arthur, intent on killing him. The gaze which was locked on her son contained a joy even beyond what Mordred remembered from his own reunions with her. Then that gaze lifted from her son to the guards who had escorted him and her eyes fell on Mordred. They widened in surprise before they narrowed on his face.

Morgana released her son to approach Mordred. “My old friend,” she said.

Gareth was by her side, excitedly introducing Mordred as the one who saved the prince’s life, oblivious to her cold tone.

She looked down at the boy and a warm smile touched her lips although her eyes when they glanced back at Mordred remained icy. “I’m glad you are home safely, son.”

Gareth’s smile faded and a serious look settled on his face. “They killed Cerdic.”

“Yes, we found his body. Now I want you to speak with Sir Lionel so we can find the men who took you.”

Gareth nodded solemnly, gave his father a formal bow, and left the room.

Morgana turned back to Mordred. The elderly king craned his neck and watched them narrowly beneath thick white eyebrows, thin lips pursed between his bushy white mustache and beard.

“The last time we met you tried to kill me,” she said to Mordred, her voice low.

The king frowned and cocked an ear toward them, then appeared to give up any attempt to listen in.

Mordred ran his eyes around the room but the two guards by the door did not move and seemed not to have heard the queen’s accusation. “You gave me no choice,” he replied. “You had forgotten that the love that binds us is more important than the power we wield. Such hatred as yours could not triumph.”

She tipped her head to the side. “Brave words. But the last two times we have met you were keeping company with criminals and slavers. I assume you know exactly who kidnapped my son. Perhaps you even assisted?”

Mordred nodded without speaking.

“So how is it that you have now returned the boy to us? Are you looking for a reward you do not have to share?”

“I wish to make amends,” Mordred said. “But I need no reward for aiding Gareth. The boy has all the love and compassion which used to fill your heart, and I’m pleased to be of service to him.”

Morgana blinked and drew away, watching him carefully. Then her brows drew together and her lip curled in exactly the expression she had worn when he had stabbed her in Ismere and she was about to strike him down in return.

A shiver of fear uncurled in his stomach despite the rumours that she had lost her power. She was queen here, and he was under no illusion the king on the throne would countermand any order given by his wife.

Mordred took a step back and his hand twitched as Morgana opened her mouth, no doubt to order the guards to seize him, when Gareth raced back into the chamber. Morgana’s eyes went immediately to her son.

The boy stopped in his tracks before he walked forward to stand in front of Mordred, facing his mother. Mordred waited without moving or speaking, watching Morgana. Her gaze remained fixed on Gareth.

“Mother, I want Mordred to stay with us. He’s my friend, he can protect me.”

“Gareth, you don’t know this man at all.”

“He saved me and he brought me back here.”

Gareth held Morgana’s eyes without flinching and finally she turned her gaze back to Mordred.

“Then if you want him to stay, he can stay.”


	19. Summer, 25th Year of Arthur’s Reign

Arthur drew his sword and turned the hilt in his hands, running his fingers over the engraving. His chair was tilted back on two legs and his knee braced against the table in his chamber.

He had pulled this sword from a chunk of solid rock with Merlin’s words echoing in his ears: _You have to believe, Arthur. Have faith_. He had lifted the sword into the air, sunlight flashing along the blade, transfixed by its beauty, by a tingle that ran up his arm, and he had known this sword was made for him. It had been in his hand when he took Camelot back from Morgana and her barbarian warlord, when he built Albion bit by bit, when he used the sword in battle and when he drove its point into the ground in a gesture of peace. He wondered which it should be this time.

Word had come from Brittany, a land bordered on three sides by the Narrow Sea and on the fourth by territory nominally Frankish. The Roman Emperor had abdicated in favour of his nephew, who had now demanded tribute of Brittany. Tribute no kingdom of Albion had paid to Rome for generations. Which Brittany did not wish to pay now. Nor did the Frankish King Hoel have any desire to pay Rome for protection from its own dead empire. Hoel had an army, but he had requested Arthur’s aid, hinting that if Rome reasserted her influence on Brittany it was a short step across the sea to press Albion for tribute next.

Arthur ran his fingertips along the words etched into the blade. _Take me up_. Then he flipped it over in his palm. _Cast me aside_.

“Don’t go.”

Arthur’s chair landed with a jolt and he nearly dropped the sword. Niniane stood inside his chamber door.

“Don’t you ever knock?” he snapped, then flushed at his own rudeness. Niniane smiled and Arthur caught his breath at how much her smile resembled her father’s. “Why shouldn’t I go?”

“I have a feeling you shouldn’t.”

He stared at her. She had a funny feeling; how many times had Merlin’s funny feelings turned out to be true?

She tipped her head to the side, still smiling Merlin’s smile. “I know you never listened to him, either.”

“I did,” Arthur protested. “Sometimes.”

A serious look replaced her smile. “You must do what you feel is right, Arthur.”

“I agree,” said the queen.

Guinevere entered the chamber behind Niniane. With a respectful bow the young woman left the royals, closing the heavy door behind her.

“You agree with who about what?” Arthur asked, laying his sword on the table.

Guinevere sighed and approached him where he sat. She seated herself on the arm of his chair and laid one hand on the back of his neck, tangling her fingers in his golden hair. “I understand the threat posed by the Romans is real, and you’re right to be concerned about them once again exerting their foreign influence on our land. And I understand your knights are restless, that they thirst for an opportunity to defend the kingdom, as do you.”

His thumb, which had been stroking the engraving on the sword hilt, stilled.

“I don’t want you to go so far away, to put your life at risk again, but I agree you must do what you feel is right.”

“Even if I do take my army and cross the Narrow Sea, it might not come to battle. We may convince the Romans to give up their claim.”

Guinevere smiled. “It is entirely possible your mere presence will dissuade them from any further demands. Given your reputation, they’ll only meet you in battle if they outnumber you three to one.”

Arthur felt his neck grow warm at both her praise and her trusting smile.

“All I ask is that you take care, Arthur, and come back to me.”

~

Mordred stood quietly at the edge of the muddy training ground. The sky was solid grey with not even a glowing spot to mark the position of the sun overhead.

Sir Accolon had decided the mud was perfect for sword practice. He circled around Gareth, then the two came together with a ringing clang of metal on metal. Gareth slipped and landed on his back this time. He was thoroughly coated with muck and Mordred guessed the prince’s clothes were soaked through.

“That’s enough for today.”

Morgana’s voice came from the edge of the field closest to Rheged’s castle. Mordred saw her eyes run down Accolon’s trim frame as she approached and the blond young man gave her a coy look in response.

“Yes, my lady,” he said with a bow.

The knight left to return to the armoury. Gareth scrambled to his feet and removed his helmet as he hesitantly lifted his eyes to his mother.

“You did fine, son, but you must keep aware of your surroundings including the ground beneath your feet. No matter your skill, your enemy can run you through as soon as you lose your footing.”

“I’ll work harder.”

“I know you will.” Morgana ruffled her son’s hair, which he submitted to despite being nearly full grown. “Go and get changed and send your sword and armour for cleaning.”

Morgana’s gaze followed her son as he left. She was wearing a silver gown in Rheged’s royal colour which hugged her breasts and hips and Mordred wondered if she had come to supervise her son’s training or merely to catch the attention of her lover.

“Accolon is half your age.”

She turned to him with a smirk curling one corner of her pretty mouth. “And my husband is old enough to be my father, it all evens out. We don’t all have a loving mate to go home to. How many children do you and Kara have now? Two? Three?” Morgana’s smirk widened. “Is your happy home all that you dreamed of?”

“Since the day of the attack on our camp all I have wanted is to have a home, with Kara. I am happy.”

A frown replaced the smirk on Morgana’s face before her eyes narrowed. “Does Kara know that it was your hand that prevented me from killing Arthur the last time he was within my grasp? The man who led the attack on Aglain’s camp? Who was responsible for the deaths of her family?”

Mordred was glad he had told Kara the truth long ago, it would not be to his benefit for Morgana to hold such a thing over him. “She knows, but she doesn’t understand.” Kara refused to acknowledge that Mordred’s life would have been forfeit as a child if Arthur had not intervened. “I owed him a debt. It is paid.”

“The time will come when I take back from Arthur what is rightfully mine. My son will kill him and return the throne of Camelot to me, and Gareth will rule after me.”

“Gareth has all the qualities of a great leader,” Mordred said truthfully. He made no attempt to argue with her ceaseless ravings about her son’s destiny.

“My son has in him the blood of two kings,” Morgana continued and Mordred heard the note of insanity creep into her raised voice. “What does Arthur have? A worthless servant for an advisor, common men for knights, my maidservant for a queen.”

“He has the sword.”

She ceased shouting and looked at him narrowly.

“The sword is proof Arthur is destined to rule these lands. They say he pulled the sword he calls Caliburn from a chunk of solid rock when no one else could budge it.”

“We know whose work that was,” Morgana said.

“Emrys.” Mordred had heard the stories since childhood. Although he thought the presence of Emrys was further proof Arthur was the Once and Future King, he did not say so. “Destiny.”

Morgana’s look was thoughtful rather than enraged. She turned and left without speaking, but oddly he found her quiet exit more frightening than her usual shouting rage. He watched her walk slowly in the direction of the castle and a shiver crawled up his spine as if this moment were familiar, as if he had been in this exact spot before, watching Morgana walk away, wishing he could change … what?

Shaking his head to clear it, Mordred made his way into the citadel. It was midday and there was a good chance Kara would have a meal prepared. As he entered the corridor which led to his rooms, Gareth rushed up beside him. The prince was clean and wearing fresh clothes.

Mordred glanced sideways at the young man and lifted a brow. “Is there some princely duty you should be attending to?”

Gareth shrugged.

Mordred put an arm around his shoulders. “If we hurry there might be stew left.”

Gareth grinned at him.

When they walked through the door, Kara looked up from where she sat at the table with a little brown-haired girl beside her on the bench and a toddler on her lap. She had been feeding the boy, but as soon as she saw the two of them arrive, she moved to fetch more trenchers.

“I’ll get it,” Mordred said. He dished up food for himself and Gareth while the prince sat down at their small table and immediately began tickling the girl.

She giggled and squirmed, spilling broth on Gareth’s shirt in the process.

“Careful of the prince’s clothes,” Kara said. She shifted the toddler to ease the ever-present ache in her damaged leg.

“He started it,” the girl said, frowning at her mother when Gareth ceased his tickling.

“Only because you have such a funny laugh.” Gareth gave her a poke in her side and she giggled again. “You sound like a puppy barking.”

“I do not,” she protested.

Mordred set food before the prince and sat down across from them with his own bowl. Gareth wasted no time wolfing down everything in front of him. Mordred shook his head, knowing the boy would have been well fed in the morning as well as having meat, bread, cheese, and fruit waiting for him in his own chambers when he cleaned up after training. Better food than the stew he was currently devouring.

There was a small smile on Kara’s face as she continued feeding morsels to the child on her lap while watching Gareth swallow his food without appearing to chew. The girl fell to her own food with renewed vigour, trying and failing to match Gareth bite for bite.

“How was training in the mud?” Kara asked.

Gareth shrugged again.

“The king must be pleased with your skill, I hear you’re a fine swordsman.”

Gareth’s eyes were on his empty plate. “He never comes to watch me, he’s too old.”

Mordred exchanged a glance with Kara. “King Urien carries the responsibility for the kingdom, despite his son’s assistance.”

“All Owain does is agree with Father and relay his orders to everyone else,” Gareth said.

“Which shows how much pressure remains on the king,” Kara said. “You know he’s proud of you. Both your parents love you dearly.”

“I know Mother loves me,” Gareth said. “But sometimes she …”

His face reddened and Mordred wondered if the prince had been entirely sheltered from the rumours of his mother’s madness.

“She’s scary,” the little girl beside Gareth said loudly.

“Hedda.” Kara frowned at the child and glanced at the door.

They all jumped when there was a loud knock and the chamber door opened to admit one of the royal guards.

“My lord.” The guard bowed in Gareth’s direction. “Message from the queen.” He delivered a scrap of parchment to the prince before departing.

Gareth unrolled the message. He looked at Mordred. “You are to escort me to the Northern Forest at sundown.”

~

The grey, overcast day was fading to a dark night as Mordred and Gareth made their way out of Rheged’s citadel toward the Northern Forest. The torch Mordred carried in his right hand lit the damp ground and sent weaving shadows of trees away in all directions. The slight breeze was chill in the damp air.

Mordred shivered. “Did the note say what your mother intends?”

“It has something to do with my destiny to kill Arthur.”

Mordred stretched out his left hand to halt the boy. The prince stopped and looked at him questioningly.

“Gareth, I owe you everything I have and you know I would protect you with the last breath in my body. But do you really believe you could face King Arthur in combat and defeat him?”

“It’s the reason I was born, to kill the traitor and return Mother’s birthright to her. And Father says Arthur is an upstart who doesn’t deserve to be High King.” Gareth’s eyes searched his. “Do you believe in destiny?”

“Yes, I do.” Mordred looked into Gareth’s earnest face for a long moment, watching the torchlight flicker on his young face. “My people put much faith in destiny, but that is not the same as fate.”

Gareth looked puzzled.

“Fate you cannot avoid. Destiny is brought about through hard work. The gods enjoy making us sweat to accomplish their purposes, and you are young; it’s unfair to saddle you with such responsibility.”

Gareth’s brow was still furrowed. Mordred sighed and began walking again and the prince fell into step beside him.

When the tree roots and fallen leaves beneath their feet gave way to the grassy area of a clearing, the light from Mordred’s torch fell on Morgana. She stood next to a creature her height but ten times as large. Its horned head had a jaw big enough to swallow a wild boar whole and its skin was scaly and glowed faintly in the light. Mordred gasped and his hand went to the hilt of his sword, but Morgana gestured at him to put away the blade and come closer.

The creature’s head swung towards the newcomers and Mordred saw two pale, shining eyes. Gareth started forward at his mother’s gesture and Mordred hastened to stay at his side, keeping one eye on the boy and one on the monster.

As he got closer, Gareth’s steps slowed and he looked from his mother to the dragon. When Mordred stopped and waited for Morgana to speak, Gareth stopped beside him.

“This is Aithusa. She’s going to help us. Gareth, hand me your sword.”

Wide-eyed, Gareth glanced at Mordred and then withdrew the sword his father had given him on his seventeenth birthday. He passed it to his mother hilt-first.

She took the weapon in her black gloved hands, then stretched it out in front of her, blade pointed at the dark sky. She nodded at the dragon and Mordred saw the creature open its massive jaw and spew flame.

Although the dragon’s fiery breath was aimed away from them, Mordred could not help but recoil and throw a protective hand in front of Gareth, but the dragon flame touched only the blade of the sword. Morgana stood without flinching, holding the weapon high, a soft smile on her lips.

Mordred could feel the heat of the flame, but the metal blade did not turn red or soften. In fact, it seemed to shine faintly in the dragon’s breath.

When the creature finished, Mordred’s torch was once again the only light they had except for a faint luminescence clinging to the sword. Reverently, Morgana laid the flat of the blade across her hand, holding the sword out to her son. His eyes were fixed on the shining weapon as he stepped closer and reached out to take it from her gloved hands.

“Your blade,” she said. “Forged in a dragon’s breath; nothing can survive its touch.” Morgana smiled. “A weapon worthy of my proudest warrior.”

“I will call it Clarent. And I shall wield it in victory, and with honour.”

Mordred felt a thrill of excitement hearing Gareth’s solemn vow and seeing the boy holding the shining weapon. Perhaps destiny truly had touched them that night.


	20. Autumn, 25th Year of Arthur’s Reign

Leon was worried. It had been two weeks since word reached them that Arthur, leading King Hoel’s army and his own knights and joined by the other Frankish kings, had put the Romans and their allies to flight. The Roman Emperor had recalled what was left of his forces and, even allowing for bad weather on the Narrow Sea, Arthur and his knights should have returned to Camelot days ago. Now finally a messenger arrived but he refused to relay his news to anyone except Leon or the queen herself despite the fact it was not yet dawn.

The First Knight dressed quickly, dispatched a guard to alert the queen, and hurried to the throne room to receive the message. The man who waited wore a somber expression.

“What news?” asked Leon, tying his cloak as he entered the chamber dimly lit by two torches hastily fetched by the guards.

“The campaign was successful, but the High King fell in the moment of victory.”

For a brief moment Leon thought the room went entirely dark and silent. He blinked, and focused on the bearded face of the messenger lit by a flickering torch. “What?”

“King Arthur is dead.”

A dozen emotions fought for supremacy: guilt for not having been at the king’s side, anger at the knights who had not protected him, a flicker of hope that Guinevere was free now, grief which nearly obliterated his ability to think.

“The list of casualties is documented here,” the messenger indicated the packet he carried full of parchments and tokens, “but this news could not wait.”

Leon nodded and tried to formulate a coherent thought. “You sailed across the Narrow Sea with the returning troops?”

“Yes. They follow a day or two behind me.”

“Do they bring Arthur’s body with them?”

The messenger shook his head. “The High King’s body was not recovered.”

“Then it’s possible Arthur lives?”

“No, my lord. He was seen to fall, although his standard had been cut down and in the growing dark it could not be observed exactly where he was fighting or what happened. By morning many of the bodies were stripped already. But they waited two more days near the battlefield and then another week at port without receiving any message. If the king survived we would know it by now.”

“Wait for me in the Council room,” Leon said.

Leon’s hand shook slightly as he raised it to knock on the door of the royal chambers. Even in Arthur’s absence the queen slept in the room they shared rather than the beautiful chambers which had been furnished for her.

When a guard admitted him, Guinevere was fastening a light cloak over her nightdress. The candles had all been lit and the bright room showed how drawn her face was. Leon tried to mask the despair he feared was written in his expression.

“My lady,” Leon said with a bow. “We received word the king fell in the battle.”

The blood drained from Guinevere’s face and she grasped the back of a chair, but remained upright. He took a step forward to support her before he caught himself.

“Thank you for telling me yourself,” she said. “I will join you in the Council room shortly and you can update me before we call together the Round Table.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Leon gave her another bow before he turned to allow her a moment alone to mourn before she had to assume her duties as Queen. As the door of the chamber closed behind him, Leon glimpsed Guinevere’s hands cover her face as she sank to the floor, her shoulders heaving.

Only an hour later the queen swept into the Council chamber where Leon had received the messenger’s full report and now sat poring over the correspondence the man had brought with him. A pile of tokens was heaped on the table as well: seals, rings, brooches, badges of office, campaign medals, and mementoes stripped from the dead and sent home to their families. Leon saw Guinevere’s eyes fasten on the glittering pile.

Leon blinked several times, his eyes watery from the early hour and the smoke of a dozen candles lighting the table. He watched the queen closely. She wore her court dress of Camelot red, her hair dressed in a crown of braids and topped with the royal circlet. Although her face was strained, she appeared composed.

She seated herself in one of the two chairs at the head of the table before turning her gaze to him. She was twisting the ring she wore on her left hand. “What do we know?”

“The battle was won, my lady, as you have already heard. Brittany is safe, King Hoel and the Franks are grateful, and the Romans received only the body of their general as tribute. Our troops have crossed the Narrow Sea and will reach here in a day or two. But Arthur was cut down in the fighting near the end of the battle.”

“I do not see the royal seal in the pile here.” Her eyes indicated the heap on the table.

“Likely it is with the body which has not yet been recovered.” Leon winced at the sharpness of Guinevere’s gaze.

“If the king’s body is not found how can we be sure he is dead? He is out there, I know it, I can feel it.”

“My lady, there is little doubt. Arthur was seen to fall, and there has been no word from him since the battle. They waited by the field two days and again in port for a full week.”

The blaze which had lit the queen’s brown eyes was doused, leaving them duller than before. “I see. Who else was lost?”

Leon hesitated, wishing he could spare her further bad news. “Gwaine was wounded, and will die soon. He would not have survived the journey home, so they left him at a monastery near the port. Percival stayed with him.”

Guinevere’s hand clenched tightly over her stomach as though she had received another blow but she lifted her chin and nodded. “We must convene the Round Table as soon as it is light. They can affirm my continuation as Regent until Arthur’s death,” there was only a sight catch in her voice, “has been confirmed. Then we will send to each of the kingdoms, advising of the change in ruler. Everyone must know there is a central power in Albion carrying out the king’s wishes.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Leon’s heart ached for the pain Guinevere was keeping at bay while she held the kingdom together. He wanted to comfort her, but no sign of weakness was permissible in the new ruler; her tears would be saved until she was alone again. He was also afraid any offer of solace would betray his own feelings and he was deeply ashamed at the thoughts that poked into his mind when his king, a man he revered more than any other, was not yet cold in the ground.

“Who is our spy in Rheged?” the queen asked.

“Sir Caradoc’s son, Accolon.”

Guinevere frowned slightly. “He is young.”

“But a fine knight,” Leon said. “And his father is one of Arthur’s most loyal soldiers.”

“Rumours will spread quickly. Ensure he is notified of the king’s death but keeps the news from Morgana as long as possible. We do not want her to make plans before Camelot’s nobles and the other kingdoms have pledged me their support.”

~

Morgana looked up at the knock on her chamber door. Few approached the queen if she had not ordered them to appear before her and even fewer would dare to do so in her own chamber. Curious, Morgana nodded at her maid to open the door.

The queen’s eyebrow arched at the sight of Accolon standing on the threshold. Morgana could not resist a glance at the mirror on the table she sat beside, glad the maid had just finished brushing her hair – the grey amid the black was less noticeable – but she did not allow any sign of welcome to touch her face. The young man had not been summoned that evening; it was unconscionably forward of him to show up without her invitation.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“My lady.” Accolon gave her a respectful bow. “Please forgive my temerity in interrupting your preparations for the evening, but I received news which I believe to be of utmost interest.”

Morgana frowned at the self-satisfied smile the young blond man wore.

“If my lady would grant me a moment.”

The queen hesitated before she nodded at the maid to admit him. “Leave us.”

The maid curtsied in acknowledgement, then closed the door behind Accolon as she left.

“Well, what is it?” Morgana demanded.

“I bring you news you have longed for.”

“Then please be so kind as to share it before my patience wears thin.”

“Arthur is dead.”

For a moment Morgana thought she was dreaming. The room swam and she put out a hand to grasp the edge of the table beside her. Then everything snapped into sharp focus. “Are you certain?”

“Yes, my lady. Queen Guinevere herself sent word to me. I doubt the rumours have yet reached the other kingdoms.”

Morgana’s mind whirled. Arthur was dead with no heir to take his place. Merlin was gone. They said he had fancied a young girl and she had stolen his magic and sealed him in a cave, or a tree, or a tower of air. Whatever it was, Morgana was glad he had met his end at the hands of a woman; it was justice for what he had done to her.

That faithless maidservant Arthur had married would act quickly to seize the throne, but Morgana had the opportunity to move just as quickly. Let Urien and his witless son, Owain, have Rheged; it was Camelot that rightfully belonged to her. She was Uther’s daughter even though he had never acknowledged her. She was entitled to his name and his throne.

A slow smile spread across her face. She looked up at Accolon through her lashes. “Sir Accolon, you have earned my undying gratitude. There must be a reward for your loyalty.”

“All I ask is to serve faithfully at your side, my lady.”

She recognized the flattery for what it was but could not ignore the warm feeling which spread through her at his smooth words and suggestive smile. “Then you will be by my side when rule Camelot. But first you will carry my offer of alliance to certain of Arthur’s noble courtiers.”

“I am yours to command.”

~

Leon stood slowly and met the eyes of each of the others seated at the Round Table. Only two-thirds of the chairs were occupied; the seats traditionally used by Arthur, Gwaine, Percival, and a half dozen more were conspicuously vacant and a few of the others seated around the table bore recent battle wounds. Sir Caradoc sat stiffly, teeth clenched, and refused to look up from the table. Leon hoped he knew they would not hold his son’s treachery against him.

“We received this ultimatum today. It is signed by nearly all the nobles of Arthur’s court.” Leon looked down at the parchment he held by its edges as if it was contaminated. “They demand that Morgana be recognized as the Queen of Camelot and her son, Gareth, as heir to the throne with immediate effect.”

“How can they consider allowing that traitorous witch within the walls of this city?” Sir Andred pounded a fist on the table.

“She is a noble, the daughter of a king and the mother of a prince.” Sir Ector’s voice was strong although he leaned heavily on a cane when he painstakingly made his way to and from the Round Table meetings. “Guinevere is an ignorant peasant who does not listen to the advice of those born to positions of power. They are blind to her strengths as a ruler.”

“Arthur intended for Guinevere to succeed him to the throne,” Sir Sagramore said. “If nothing else, they should honour his wishes.”

“They say Merlin enchanted Arthur to marry Guinevere, that it is only through his dark arts she became queen and in his right mind Arthur would never have made her Regent.”

Leon ground his teeth at the nasty rumour. He had thought they were long since done with the evils of sorcery arguments, but of course his noble brethren would trot out whatever claims suited their purposes at the time.

“What of the other kingdoms?” Ector asked.

“They wait for Camelot to declare its ruler, then they will decide if they wish to swear fealty to whoever wears the crown,” Leon answered.

“And what is the strength of these rebellious nobles? Can they put up a force against Camelot’s knights?” Andred questioned.

Leon looked down at the names on the parchment, although he had memorized each one. “Altogether among them their vassals amount to a force of considerable size, plus they have Rheged’s army on their side.”

Ector looked directly at Leon. “Who stands with us?”

“Cador, Gwyl, Ban, Amr, and Pellinore.”

“Olwyne’s family?” Andred asked in surprise. “They trace their bloodline back before Roman times and are proud of it. More than anyone they think nobles are born to rule.”

“Yes, but their granddaughter, Lynette, is loyal to the Queen and she spoke with them herself,” Leon said. “We are fortunate they have not chosen to join the rebels because they command a great many vassals. As it is, the rebels match us in fighting force, or at least pose a significant threat.”

“They would not have delivered this ultimatum otherwise,” Ector said.

“Your Highness.” Leon turned to Guinevere. “What is our response to this demand?”

The queen met his gaze steadily. “I have no intention of bowing to this threat. Bitterness and hatred have eroded Morgana’s sanity; she is no fit ruler whatever anyone may think of me. I hope her supporters will realize that and back down before this escalates from threats to action.”

“If they do not back down?” Ector asked.

“Then they will find that I am resolved to defend Camelot against this treasonous uprising.”

“My lady, we stand behind you to the end.” Leon faced the room. “Long live the queen!”

One by one those around the table stood. “Long live the queen!”

Gwen made no attempt to brush away her tears. “Thank you all for your loyalty.”

~

Erec looked up at Aithusa from his seat on the boulder. She bent her graceful neck so her great head was on a level with his. Her white scales were translucent in the sunshine which warmed the forest clearing, making her appear to glow.

“Morgana intends to tear apart the kingdom with civil war, doesn’t she?” he asked.

The big, light blue eyes blinked slowly. “She intends to reclaim her throne from the serving girl.”

“Gwen is the queen and the rightful ruler of Camelot.”

“She means nothing to me. Morgana is my friend.”

The dragon brought her right wing closer to her body, almost underneath her stomach, but Erec could see the scarring on her leg.

“I thought I was your friend,” he said.

The eyes blinked again. “You are.”

“When Morgana attacks, I will fight with Camelot’s defenders against her.”

The great white head bobbed up and down and the spiked tail raked across the ground leaving a gouge in the grassy clearing. “Why do you have to fight?”

“Because Gwen is my friend and Morgana is not, because Gwen is the rightful queen, because King Arthur would have defended this land against Morgana’s tyranny and so would Merlin. You cannot aid Morgana.”

The tail left three long swaths of upturned grass, then the head drooped. “I will not aid her in the battle, but I will not aid you, either, young lord.”

“I do not ask you to.”

The white, horned head raised itself level with his eyes. “You must not face Morgana’s son in the battle.”

“Why?”

“The sword he carries has special properties.”

Erec’s eyes widened and then narrowed. “Did you burnish the blade?”

The dragon reared back and shook her wings before she nodded.

“I don’t think you should have done that.”

Aithusa looked at him. “I had to. It was time.”

~

“Their army is assembled only a few leagues from the city. The nobles demand that you hand the crown to Camelot’s rightful ruler and they promise if you do so, there will be no bloodshed.” Leon watched Guinevere closely.

There was a rustling as everyone seated at the Round Table shifted in his seat. Someone knocked over a goblet and spilled red liquid across the gold dragon etched into the table’s hard surface.

“Is there hope of a peaceful end to this without bowing to their demand?” the queen asked.

“No, my Lady.”

Her eyes closed briefly and her chin dropped. Then she raised her head and looked him directly in the eyes. “I will not abandon my people to Morgana’s rule.”

Leon felt a thrill of pride at the way she said _my people_. He glanced around the table. “Long live the queen!”

Each knight present stood. “Long live the queen!” they echoed.

“I will not allow them to lay siege to Camelot. Assemble your men, we ride out to meet them on the battlefield. I will offer to negotiate, but if the nobles insist on putting Morgana on the throne, it will be necessary to put down this uprising with force.”

Leon nodded to the other knights and they left to begin preparations for the march. Before he could follow, the First Knight heard Guinevere call to him. He turned to find she had risen from her place and stood next to him. She put a hand on his arm.

“Thank you, Leon, for your loyalty. Most of your peers have chosen to support Morgana despite all she has done merely because she has royal blood, and I have not a drop of nobility in me.”

Leon looked into her deep brown eyes. “You are ten times as noble as that witch who attempted to steal a crown she has no right to, who wished Arthur dead, who ordered her soldiers to fire on unarmed citizens and burned their crops. Arthur was the rightful king and he chose his successor well. I would have ridden into the mouth of hell for him and I would do so for you, my lady.” He hesitated, wondering if he should give her the full truth. “I would die for you, Gwen. Even if I did not believe in my heart you are Camelot’s rightful ruler, I would stand by your side.”

Her eyes grew round and her lips parted but no sound came out.

He stood straight as she stared at him in surprise, making no attempt to hide the devotion shining in his face.

Finally she spoke. “I never knew, never suspected.” Her gazed fastened on his. “How long have you felt this way?”

“Since we were children,” he said.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I couldn’t.” He did not flinch under her intense gaze. “From the time I was old enough to understand my feelings, I knew it could never be.”

“My mother was a servant in your household,” Gwen said gently. “No one would have thought less of you had you tumbled me then.”

Her hand remained on his arm, the warmth of her fingers burning through his sleeve.

“I would never do that,” he said. “I could not make you a formal offer, and I would not offer you anything less. I only hoped you would find happiness with a man of your own class.”

A lopsided smile touched her face. “Arthur never offered me less, either.”

“He had more courage than I did,” Leon said, a stab of old pain knifing through his chest.

Gwen’s eyes misted. “I tried to fight it, you know, I tried not to love him, I knew what it would cost the kingdom for its ruler to marry a serving maid.”

“Arthur refused to accept that a person’s birth determined his worth. I had always thought God gave us a noble birth because we were more deserving, more able to shoulder the responsibilities, but in truth He puts us right where we should be without regard for any accident of parentage. Lancelot, Gwaine, and Percival are the finest knights I have served with and you are the most worthy queen I have known.”

Leon stepped back and her hand dropped away from his arm. Then he executed a proper bow and strode away to organize the preparations for battle.

~

By the time Gwaine recovered enough to make the journey back to Albion, winds blew steadily eastward across the Narrow Sea, keeping the ships sealed in the Breton harbour. The king chafed at the further delay, his own wounds fully healed, knowing the weeks of waiting must be hard on Guinevere. He and his escort had found the body of the messenger he had sent with news of his injuries and Arthur feared that his people may think him dead.

He and the dozen knights who had guarded him while he recovered near the battlefield in that foreign land had finally arrived at the harbour to find the Camelot troops had returned to their own shore. They left behind a dying Gwaine with Percival to tend him at a local monastery. Arthur took rooms for himself and his men at the same monastery to wait with Percival and honour Gwaine when the time came. But Gwaine had not died. He had recovered enough to return with them as soon as a ship was able to make the crossing.

Finally the winds abated and Arthur and his men took the first ship back to their own shore. Now they were on Camelot land, the king was riding hard to make it to the citadel before another night fell.

“Sire, we have to stop.”

Arthur glanced sideways at Percival and reined in his mount. Nestled in a valley below them stood a tiny collection of dwellings huddled in a break in the forest cover, one tall turret rising nearly to the height of the hills around. As much as Arthur wanted to push on now they were this close to Camelot, his knights were tired. Gwaine’s face had an unnerving grayish tinge and Arthur was exhausted himself, though he had buried his fatigue under the stronger urge to see Guinevere’s face again after all these months.

He looked back at the village. Its walls were weathered and grey, the trough in the clearing was dirty, and the single horse tethered in front of the tavern had been roughly used. But it would offer drink and food of a sort and give them a chance to rest. It looked familiar, and Arthur frowned, then looked back at Gwaine before a grin stretched across his face. It was the same tavern in which he had first met the dark-haired knight, who had looked anything but knightly at the time. A traveling rogue who favoured long odds.

“We stop here,” Arthur called back to his men.

They left their mounts outside the Hog’s Head Inn and Arthur led the way inside. It was unchanged: several tables of rough-hewn wood, perhaps more battered than they had been many years ago, wooden benches, several animal heads mounted on the walls and above the fireplace, a plank laid across two barrels where a buxom, heavy-set woman was pouring mead. Her face was familiar as well and Arthur’s mouth twitched at the memory of her calling Merlin a “handsome fellow” and his embarrassed reaction.

At that moment the woman looked up and her eyes fell on the king. A cry escaped her as the pitcher she was holding fell from her fingers with a loud crash, spilling mead across the straw on the floor.

All conversations stopped as the few other patrons turned toward the door to see what Mary was staring at, her face ashen. There were several gasps.

The rural tavern was not a place frequented by nobility, let alone royalty, but Arthur thought their reaction was nevertheless extreme.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Gwaine remarked to the room at large.

~

Mordred stood with Morgana and Gareth, watching as Owain led their combined troops to meet Camelot and her allies on the plain below. Morgana was dressed for battle, her long hair wound tightly in a single braid down her back, but for now she was content to watch. Beside her, Gareth’s hand gripped the hilt of his beautiful sword, his knuckles white. The silver crest with the blue wolf he wore glittered in the sunlight.

A torrent of arrows came from both sides, then the opposing armies blended, swirling together, their headlong rush toward each other slowing as they clashed. A storm of noise swirled up from the plain: running feet on hard ground, steel on steel, shouts, screams of pain.

Mordred could see, far across to the south end of the valley, the white tents of Camelot’s camp glowing faintly in the sunlight. Guinevere would be there, watching the battle as they did. He slid a sideways glance at the dragon crouched beside Morgana and eased closer to Gareth between the young man and the monstrous creature. It appeared tame in Morgana’s presence but Mordred had seen the size of its teeth when it opened its jaw to spout flame and they were nearly as large as the claws on all four of its feet. Its spiked tail stretched across the ground, as long again as its body length.

Mordred turned his attention back to the battle boiling below. It appeared both forces were of equivalent strength and evenly matched. There would be no quick end to this fight. As he had thought, his shadow shortened and lengthened again as it moved from his right to his left.

Several times, Morgana glanced at the dragon and Mordred wondered if the creature had refused to attack or if it was waiting for some cue from Morgana. Although it would be nearly impossible for the dragon to limit its damage to their enemies alone in the melee below.

~

Queen Guinevere wiped a forearm across her brow, mopping away the sweat while trying to keep from smearing more blood and gore across her face. The tent behind her was near capacity with wounded. Gwen wondered how Alice kept so calm while moving her aged body quickly from one soldier to another. Daegal looked more haggard than Alice did, although he moved gracefully and efficiently through his tasks. A scream of pain sounded from inside the tent, momentarily piercing the heavy blanket of noise from the battle on the field below.

Clouds were moving in to obscure the sun behind Gwen. A slight breeze swept up the hillside toward her and she welcomed the coolness on her damp brow before the smell hit the back of her throat and choked her. She was about to turn away from the fighting and return to the wounded when a deeper roar of shouting rolled up from below.

From a wooded valley which cut through the hills to the east of the battlefield, a dozen armed knights charged toward the weary combatants on the plain. The new arrivals carried no standard, but the leader had raised his sword, its blade appearing to glow with its own light as well as reflected sunshine. Gwen thought she heard the cry, “For the love of Camelot!” shouted above the noise of fighting.

She put one hand over the heart that had begun racing in her chest. “Arthur.”

~

Leon yanked his blade free of a falling body at the same time as he drove an elbow into whoever was behind him. He breathed heavily and was covered in gore but so far his only wound was a minor slash across his left leg.

The sun had moved from one side of the plain to the other, crossing over the heads of the fighters packed between Camelot’s white tents at the south end and the spot where Morgana and her dragon watched from the hill to the north. The shadow of incoming clouds stretched across the field and Leon welcomed the coolness.

In the moment of respite, he took stock of the fighting around him. Camelot’s knights and their allies were holding their own against the combined forces of Rheged and the nobles who had sided with Morgana, but there would be no clear winner today. They would continue to slaughter each other until only one soldier was left standing.

Then Leon heard a shout that made him straighten and spin to see a small group of knights, their armour clean and their swords unbloodied, rush in from the east and in the lead …

“Arthur!” Leon exclaimed. A surge of energy went through him at the sight of his king, the ache in his arms faded away, and the knight raised his own blade high into the air with a rallying cry before he led those around him in a renewed charge.

~

Fresh shouts came from below and Mordred looked down to see a group of red-cloaked knights break from the wooded area east of the plain. He wondered why they had come late to the battle, then his eyes widened as he stared intently at the lead knight whose sword had been raised high above his head as the others followed him into the midst of the fighting.

Mordred heard Morgana gasp. Her face paled, then her eyes grew bright.

“Arthur,” she whispered.

Gareth’s head snapped toward her. He looked closely at the new arrivals, now engulfed in the battle below, their leader’s blade flashing with incredible speed as he cut down opponent after opponent. The young man drew the sword he carried before he sprinted down the sloping ground toward the battle.

“Gareth!” Morgana called.

Mordred whirled to face her. “Whatever happens now will be your doing. You convinced him he is destined to kill Arthur in battle, now that fate will claim all of us.” Without wasting further breath, Mordred raced to catch up to the young man, drawing his own weapon as he ran. He thought he heard Morgana’s lighter footfalls behind him.

Mordred saw Gareth dive into the fighting, attempting to weave his way through the combatants toward the spot he had seen Arthur. A warrior in boiled-leather armour swung at Gareth from behind. Mordred threw out his hand, sending the warrior flying backward away from the boy.

Then a blade flashed in front of Mordred’s face and he quickly brought up his own sword to parry the thrust before his eyes flashed and the other man’s weapon flew from his grasp. Mordred ran him through and looked around hurriedly for Gareth. All he could see was a press of bodies and flashing steel blades. He shouted the prince’s name but the noise around him was louder than thunder: metal on metal, metal on human flesh, cries of rage and pain.

Mordred pressed forward in the direction Gareth had disappeared.

~

Gareth dodged his way through the combat around him, intent on finding Arthur Pendragon. The sword in his hand sent a tingle up his arm, power causing it to glow faintly.

He saw a group of red-cloaked knights ahead, their blades flashing with unparalleled speed, a trail of dead and wounded in their wake, and in the lead a knight with gold hair and a golden dragon emblem on his chest. It was King Arthur.

Gareth raised his blade high but at that moment he felt a searing pain in his side.

~

Gwaine yanked his blade free of the dying man’s body and thought sadly of how young the face was. The Rheged soldier wearing the silver crest with the blue wolf could not be much more than a boy.

As the knights cut their way through the press of bodies, Gwaine was unsure who was on what side. Those allied with the red crest of Camelot seemed to be assailed by an assortment of emblems aiding the blue wolf of Rheged. An axe swung at him and Gwaine ducked neatly, driving a fist into the assailant’s jaw before he brought his sword around to parry the blow of another enemy soldier.

He heard a high-pitched scream of rage and his eyes fell on a face he knew well.

Morgana’s grey-streaked dark hair was tied back in a braid, she was dressed for battle, and she swung her blade skillfully. Her eyes filled with hate as she saw the young soldier fall at Gwaine’s feet and she lunged forward.

Gwaine parried her first blow but to his surprise she recovered immediately, dodging his next thrust and bringing her blade swiftly around. He barely blocked her with his own sword before the point of her weapon could bury itself in his chest.

This time he did not relax for an instant, letting her own momentum carry her forward as he drove his blade up under her guard.

Pain replaced the fury on her beautiful face as he twisted his sword and withdrew it. She slid to the ground, her sword falling from her fingers.

~

Mordred saw a flash of gold among the melee. He recognized the blond head of the king, flanked by a dark-haired knight whose blade was moving even quicker than the king’s own and a tall knight who overpowered his opponents with sheer strength as much as skill. Quickly, Mordred scanned the warriors they faced but none were Gareth.

Something shifted beneath Mordred’s foot and he glanced down. He stepped away from a fallen body, then gaze eyes fastened on the face of the dead man. Its eyes were fixed on the cloudy sky and blood spread across a silver crest with the blue wolf.

For a moment the sounds, smells, and sight of the battle seething around him faded as if they were a hazy memory Mordred had seen many times before. The sword in Gareth’s dead hand glowed faintly, not soiled by blood.

Slowly Mordred reached down and eased the beautiful weapon from the prince’s grip. He looked up and his eyes fixed on King Arthur.

The dark-haired knight caught sight of Mordred crouched beside the body of the fallen soldier and stepped between him and the king, weapon at the ready. Mordred’s eyes flashed gold and a fallen axe lifted from the ground, hurtling itself through the air at the knight. He moved quickly, but his sword was not enough to block the axe which cut him down.

As the knight fell, Mordred straightened and moved toward Arthur.

~

Merlin opened his eyes to see the Crystals surrounding him fade from a blinding white glow to the individual sparkles that always made him feel like he was immersed in a starry night sky. The air moved faintly. He had learned to estimate by the smells in the air what century he would be in when he left the Cave. When the roads were filled with machines, the air had a chemical smell which irritated his throat. The times closer to his own century carried the odours of animals and damp vegetation.

He eased himself to his feet, slower now than when he was young, hearing the creak of old bones as he got up. The air had a whiff of forest smell and none of the chemical tang. That meant he would not have to carry so much of the coin that underlay every transaction in the times of machines although travel would be more difficult. It was much easier for an old man to travel in the iron horses than on horseback; easier to mount, too. And fast. Incredibly fast. A person could make several days’ travel in the time it took to eat a meal. It was odd to feel a sense of motion and yet your feet were unmoving and there was no horse under you, and sometimes you could not even see what was around as you passed, jammed into a group of people, barely able to draw breath.

But he had seen much of the world, more than he had dreamed existed. Across the water were lands and more lands and all different people, different languages, different clothes, different thoughts about magic. His ability to learn other tongues had been of much use. Sometimes he traveled for years before he returned to the Cave. Then, when he visited the same places centuries later – or before – it would be different again.

Early on, he had wondered if he would meet a younger version of himself or Arthur, but never once had the Cave delivered him to his own lifetime. He had seen the world that followed, good and bad, and he had seen the world before. It had been one of his greatest pleasures to meet and speak with the Druids at the time of their greatest power, before they had hidden themselves and then eventually vanished entirely taking their history and their knowledge with them. It had also been a joy to see Kilgharrah again, although Merlin was chagrined to learn his first meeting with the old dragon had not been the dragon’s first meeting with him.

With wrinkled hands, Merlin brushed the dirt of the cave floor from his clothes as best he could, not able to bend far any more. Loose pants and a long cotton shirt served reasonably well in any century, and few in the ancient times took note of the machine-straight hems or smooth weave. The cloth produced by the machines had a nicer feel than the rough wool he had worn in his youth and it was easier to clean. As he grew older what he wore was of less concern to anyone; as an old man he was not expected to be fashionable so he could dress in whatever was comfortable just as the strange things he let slip at times were ignored as ramblings. Even as a young man he found that when he used an aging spell, his elderly appearance gave him freedom to speak his mind. He chuckled to himself at the memory, then the laugh turned into a cough that bent him over. He took a couple of deep breaths that rattled in his chest.

His back creaked as he stood straight. With a steady pace that was sure despite the shuffling stride, his feet knowing exactly where to step, Merlin took the familiar path to the pond. He got his elderly limbs to crouch beside the shallow pool created by water dripping from a leafy shelf above, and winced as a stone dug into his knee. He shifted away from the rock and dipped his hands into the cool water, cupping them to splash clear liquid on his face and beard. He rinsed his white hair as best he could and smoothed it back, then he pushed himself to his feet and looked around.

The forest that surrounded the pond looked much as it had the first time he had seen it, when Arthur had been wounded by an arrow to the back and Merlin had despaired of being able to save his life. The trees were just as thick, the banks just as steep.

Judging that he had arrived at a point during Aithusa’s lifetime, Merlin ensured he was alone in the wide, dirt-covered area around the pond and then lifted his head to use the dragonspeak. He could look in the crystals but they were treacherous, showing him pieces of truth but never the whole picture. Information from a dragon was slightly more reliable.

His shout was weaker than in times past, and he found himself coughing again, one hand on each knee until he caught his breath. The air around him swirled, blowing dirt into his face, and he blinked several times before he could look up.

The white dragon looked at him, no taller than he was himself. The horn in the middle of her forehead was shorter than when he had spoken with her a while ago, or a while from now.

“You got smaller,” he said.

“You, my lord, got older.”

He straightened his spine as much as possible and raised one white eyebrow.

“You should come now.” The dragon shook out her wings.

The other white eyebrow went up. “Where?”

“The field at Camlaan,” she answered as she lifted into the air.

The whirlwind of her takeoff cut off his reply, and he spit out the dirt that had blown into his mouth and blinked to clear his eyes. She had climbed higher than the treetops that surmounted the rocky walls rising up from the area around the pond. He considered calling her back to explain, then shook his head at trying to get any sense out of a dragon.

As quickly as he was able, he made his way out of the Valley of the Fallen Kings. He was winded and his knees ached by the time he reached the surrounding forest. He picked up a fallen branch long enough to serve as a staff, breaking off the few twigs and using it to lean on as he hurried in the direction Aithusa had disappeared.

The ground sloped downhill, the trees thinned and became shorter, then the smell hit him. He had forgotten the stink of violent human death. He topped the last rise of ground and the entire plain came into view spread in front of him under a sky covered in dark clouds.

The plain had been a wide, grassy expanse, but only a few stiff stalks poked up now among the mass of bodies, the grass shoots outnumbered by arrows embedded in the ground as well as human flesh. Banners were partially propped up by the dead hands which had held them. Merlin recognized most of the crests, including the silver wolf of Rheged and the golden dragon of Camelot. A breeze passed over the field, fluttering the flags and bringing the smell more strongly toward him.

All he had heard and read about Camelot, the stories that had survived – and he knew most of the tales to be false – had all ended in a bloody civil war at Camlaan. Could that part be true? But fate could not be so vindictive as to bring him back to his own time and then show him the end of everything he had worked for. The Cave had never delivered him to a period when people he had known were living. Perhaps this battle had happened after Arthur’s death.

Leaning heavily on the branch as a staff, Merlin forced his protesting old body down the slope toward the battlefield. It was as bad as anything he had ever seen: as bad as the piles of bodies during the Black Death, as bad as the dead and dying buried under piles of rubble in a crowded city lit by explosions falling from the sky.

He heard a groan. Moving toward the sound, he saw a head turn slowly toward him, saw the mouth open, but before Merlin could make any attempt to aid the man his eyes went blank.

Merlin continued to pick his way among the dead while his eyes darted around, looking for faces he recognized. His passage disturbed the feasting crows and three of them rose into the air, squawking at him. They settled down again after he passed.

Then his gaze fastened on a knight in red and gold with long dark hair. A rushing sound filled Merlin’s ears, blocking out the crows. He knelt beside Gwaine’s lifeless form and gently closed the empty eyes.

Not far away a hand lifted into the air. Knowing he could do nothing more for his friend, Merlin used his staff as a prop and ignored the pain in his knees as he got to his feet. He approached the wounded warrior who had hailed him.

A rush of hatred blurred his vision and roared in his ears when he saw her face. Although she was older than the last time he had seen her, she looked much as she always had, her long, dark hair bound in a braid.

“Help me, Emrys. Please.”

Her voice was weak, but he did not feel any pity for her in the rush of anger. “Is this really what you wanted, Morgana?”

Her hand dropped and he saw her reach toward the body of a young man wearing the royal crest of Rheged.

“I only wanted what was rightfully mine,” she whispered with her last breath.

The sympathy he had not felt at his first sight of her crept over him then, but it was too late to help her. Then his eyes fell on a head of curly, dark hair, the stiff fingers wrapped around the hilt of a sword that glowed faintly. Merlin felt a tingle of power emanating from the beautiful weapon, although its blade was bloody and its tip had broken off. If Mordred had died here …

Merlin was certain his heart ceased to beat. He gasped for breath, looking around frantically. There were none left alive on the field, nor was there any sign of King Arthur. He looked up at the white tents at the far edge of the carnage, the place where Camelot’s wounded would have been taken.

At Merlin’s approach the guards beside the large, centre tent moved to bar his way. He waved them aside, not blinking at their cries of surprise as they found themselves hurled out of the way by a white-haired old man who seemed like he barely had the strength to lift the staff he carried.

When Merlin entered the tent, Leon and Percival reached for their weapons but Merlin’s eyes were fixed on the form laid on the bedding Gwen knelt beside.

“Arthur,” he rasped.

The fallen warrior’s blue eyes snapped open and his golden-haired head turned in Merlin’s direction. When their eyes met, the corners of the king’s mouth twitched. “You got old.”

In spite of it all a bark of laughter escaped Merlin’s throat.

“Merlin!” Gwen’s hand trembled where it pressed a cloth to the king’s blood-stained chain mail. Her right hand was clasped tightly with Arthur’s left.

The two knights stared at the old man who dropped the staff he had been using as he lowered his old body to kneel beside the wounded king.

“How are you feeling?” Merlin laid one hand on the bloodied chest. A tingle of dark magic raced up his fingertips and he snatched his hand away.

Arthur groaned in pain and reached up to lay his right hand on Merlin’s shoulder.

Merlin pushed him down again. “Lie back.”

“Where have you been?” the king said.

“Everywhere. I’ll tell you about it later.”

Arthur grimaced. “My side.”

Merlin looked at the cloth Gwen was holding against his chest. “You are bleeding.”

“That’s all right, I thought I was dying.”

A choked laugh escaped Merlin and turned into a hoarse cough before a feeling of guilt drowned the spark of joy at hearing his friend’s familiar voice. Tears gathered under Merlin’s white eyebrows. “I’m sorry. I should have been here, I should never have left.”

Arthur’s right hand remained on Merlin’s shoulder and he gave it a pat. “I should have stayed; I should not have gone overseas; there are many should haves.”

A man handed Gwen a fresh cloth soaked in cold water and she gave him the bloodied one in exchange. As Daegal took the dirty cloth away for washing, Merlin’s eyes fell on the other people standing at the back of the royal tent. A beautiful dark-haired young woman with brown eyes stepped forward and crouched beside him. She looked only a few years older than when he had last seen her, yet she seemed more mature.

“There is a fragment of sword embedded in his chest,” Niniane said.

“We’ll use magic to draw it out.”

Niniane shook her head and she glanced up at the young man who had been standing beside her. “The blade that struck Arthur is no ordinary blade, It was forged in a dragon’s breath.”

Erec flushed and nodded. “Aithusa.”

“The blade’s point is traveling inexorably toward his heart. I tried to stop it but I couldn’t.”

Merlin remembered the tingle of dark magic he had felt when he touched Arthur’s chest; its fatal power would not easily be denied. He wondered if even he could thwart such magic. His gaze met Gwen’s tear-filled brown eyes.

“It’s too late,” Arthur croaked. “With all your magic, Merlin, you’re not going to save my life.”

Ignoring the king’s protest, Merlin gently placed both his hands over Arthur’s breast. The tingle of darkness went up through his fingertips again but he refused to flinch this time. He felt for the shard of metal from the powerful weapon. As Niniane had said, it was moving towards his heart, slowly but without pause, with the force of a fate that would not be denied.

Merlin closed his eyes and whispered the words of a spell. Arthur gasped in pain, the progress of the blade’s point did not slow. Squeezing his eyes shut more tightly, Merlin tried again. Arthur cried out and Gwen gripped his left hand. The shard continued to inch closer to Arthur’s heart.

Merlin’s eyes flew open.

Niniane laid a hand over his wrinkled ones. “It was the same when I tried.”

Arthur weakly squeezed Merlin’s shoulder and gasped for breath. “No more.”

“I’m supposed to save you.”

“Not this time.” The king’s breathing was more laboured now. “Morgana?”

“She’s dead,” Merlin said.

Arthur closed his eyes briefly before his gaze met Merlin’s. “Peace at last.” Then his lids grew heavy and his hand slipped from Merlin’s shoulder.

“Arthur, please, no. Arthur.”

Gwen’s knuckles whitened around Arthur’s left hand.

“Arthur!” Merlin shouted.

The eyes that had begun to close snapped open again.

“Arthur.”

Then the king’s eyes went blank and deep sobs wracked Gwen. Leon crouched beside her and took her in his arms, his own eyes watering. She leaned against his shoulder, weeping.

Merlin bowed his white-haired head as the tears poured down his face and soaked his beard.

~

A few days earlier, Camelot had honoured her dead from both sides of the battle, Gwaine among them. Merlin had stood with Leon and Percival until the flames of the pyre slowly died out. Percival left the city shortly after.

But the king’s body had lain in state at the citadel while people holding candles filled the courtyard day after day and a procession of royalty filed through to pay their respects. Now the day had come for the final goodbye.

A stiff breeze carrying the damp lake smell snapped at the pennants with a golden dragon on a red background. Clouds covered most of the sky. Merlin stood on the shore apart from the gathered royalty and groups of knights. He ignored the stares and whispered comments at his abrupt reappearance and advanced age.

Erec, Niniane, and Lynette stood to one side of the queen, Leon on her right. Gwen was dressed in her most regal gown of red velvet stitched with gold thread and wore the crown of Camelot on her wreath of braids. Tucked in a fold of her gown, her hand was tightly clenched with Lynette’s, but her eyes were dry now as she met Merlin’s gaze and gave a tiny nod.

“ _In sibbe gerest_ ,” Merlin whispered and his eyes flashed gold.

The boat in which the king had been laid moved of its own volition into the river and those standing closest jumped back in alarm. Their frightened gazes flicked to the white-haired man standing alone and then away before he caught them looking at him.

Gwen glanced at him again but his throat closed and he could not utter a sound. He dropped his head and the queen turned to the archers waiting by the shoreline. At her gesture, two flaming arrows were sent toward the boat, striking the bow and the stern.

As the burning boat drifted further from shore, Merlin’s wrinkled hand squeezed the hilt of the beautiful sword he held loosely at his right side. His thumb caressed the engraving, _Cast me aside_. He glanced down at the weapon.

His eyes remained fixed on the blade when Erec and Niniane came up bedside him.

“It’s my fault,” Merlin said softly in his hoarse old voice. “I was supposed to prevent this from happening. I failed.” More tears crawled down his lined cheeks.

“I don’t think you did,” Niniane said. “I think you were meant to stop it from happening too soon, before all you dreamt of building came to pass, before Arthur became the king he was meant to be, before we were free.”

“Aithusa said she had to burnish the blade Mordred used, that it was time,” Erec said.

Niniane took Merlin’s wrinkled left hand in both of hers. “Taliesin said you would return when you were meant to return.”

“I was too late.”

“You were not too late to say goodbye,” Erec said. “Maybe sometimes that’s all we can ask for.”

Niniane looked at the sword Merlin held, her brow furrowed. “You got rid of the other sword, why not this one?”

“It might be needed again,” Merlin said softy, caressing the hilt.

“It is a dangerous weapon,” Erec said.

“Yes.”

Merlin squeezed Niniane’s hands and then let go. When he turned and walked away, the crowd parted to allow him to pass, their eyes on the ground. Hhe could feel their gazes fix on his retreating back.

He made his way alone to the hidden shore of the Lake of Avalon, the gateway to the land of the dead. On the shore he again looked down at the beautiful weapon as his withered fingers squeezed the hilt. Slowly, he lifted the blade up in front of his face, turning it this way and that, watching sunlight flash along its length as it had that day in the clearing when Arthur pulled it from the stone. Then, as Merlin had done once before, he hurled the sword with all his strength toward the lake.

Before it could splash into the water this time, though, a hand reached up to catch it by the hilt, holding it straight, blade pointed at the sky. The same arm which had once brought him that sword from the bottom of the lake. As he watched, Freya’s hand disappeared beneath the surface of the water taking the sword with her.

 

End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read, commented, and left kudos. I hope you enjoyed the story as much as I enjoyed writing it.


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